Popsicles in Hell
by RonsPigwidgeon
Summary: Dean is off the rails in a big way, and Sam and Cas are determined to do whatever it takes to get him back.If that takes them on some unconventional paths, so be it. Meanwhile, Dean is living it up with Crowley. That is, until he gets wind of Sam and Cas looking for him. Alternative Season 10.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Popsicles in Hell

**Author: **rons_pigwidgeon

**Fandom/Genre: **Supernatural / romance

**Pairing (s): **Dean/Cas, Dean/ a whole lotta other randoms, unrequited Castiel/Hannah

**Rating: **NC17

**Word Count: **36k

**Warnings: **explicit gay and het sex, possible rape (depending on your personal definition and perspective) dub-con, violence, minor character death, mild spoilers from the pre-season promos for season 10

**Summary: **Dean is off the rails in a big way, and Sam and Cas are determined to do whatever it takes to get him that takes them on some unconventional paths, so be it. Meanwhile, Dean is living it up with Crowley. That is, until he gets wind of Sam and Cas looking for him. Alternative Season 10.

**Notes: **This was written over the summer and finalized while the first few episodes of season 10 were airing. I included what I could from the promos, but I had not actually watched any of season 10 before I finished writing this story, so any resemblance to the season is purely inference on my part. So really, spoilers are minimal. And Dean is a demon for a whole hell of a lot longer in my story than he was on the show.

Extra warnings: I warned for Rape/Non-Con just in case what happens between Dean and the prostitute might trigger someone. I don't think it's technically rape so much as dub-con, but just to be on the safe side. His first kiss with Cas could also be considered dub-con at best. I'm sure there are more things I should warn for and am not remembering. Please let me know if you find anything.

On a happier note, this story was written for the TeamFreeWill Big Bang, and includes art by clotpoleofthelord. Or at least it will when the artist sends it to me so that I can update with it. So basically, check my tumblr at ronspigwidgeon for an update with art. Hopefully today.

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><p>When Dean opened his eyes, his first instinct was to swing. He knows if Crowley hadn't been waiting for it, the Blade would have torn Crowley's chest open and Dean would currently be bathing in the King of Hell's blood rather than glaring at him. He's mildly annoyed that Crowley managed to grab onto his wrist and hold him back.<p>

"Now Dean, be reasonable. Do you really want to kill the guy who just helped you become the demon you are today?" Crowley asks, giving Dean one of his 'be sensible' looks.

Dean snarls at him and rips his wrist out of Crowley's hand. "Fuck off, Crowley. I need a drink. Is Sam still here?" He stands, forcing Crowley back to make room for him, brushing his clothes off.

"Moose is still in the dungeon, attempting to summon me for retribution. As much as I enjoy seeing a Winchester in pain, I suggest we leave before he comes back and sees his dear older brother for what he really is."

"Let's roll, then." Dean doesn't wait for Crowley to follow before leaving the room and heading for the exit.

Crowley hurries after him, looking pained. "Don't you want to change your clothes first? You look as though you've been mauled by a bear."

Dean glances down at his bloodied, torn shirt and jeans and shrugs. "What, you don't think the bartender will serve me like this?" he asks with a smirk, holding his t-shirt away from his skin to better show the holes. "I bet he will if I show him this." He holds up the Blade with a wicked grin, his black eyes glittering in the incandescent light of the hallway.

Crowley rolls his eyes and shoves at Dean's shoulder, pushing him towards the exit. "All the powers of a demon and you still have the subtlety of an angry bull. I like to go under the radar, much easier to swindle people out of their warm and fuzzy souls that way."

"And I care about getting people's souls why exactly?"

Crowley looks like he is deeply regretting having undertaken this endeavor. "Souls are power. The more you have of one, the more you have of the other. You want power, don't you?"

Dean flicks the Blade up, spinning it in his hand and showing it off to Crowley. "I got this. Way I see it, there's plenty of power right here."

"You are a Neanderthal. Not all power can be won by violence."

"Oh, I bet it can be. You just haven't found the right kind of violence yet. Want me to show you?" He flashes a vicious smile over the edge of his blade and doesn't miss the uneasy way Crowley looks at it. He opens the door to the garage, indicating with the Blade for Crowley to precede him out. Crowley eyes the Blade before stepping into the cavernous room, the only light coming from the hallway until Dean turns on the overheads to reveal a fleet of classic cars that has Crowley immediately distracted.

"So many beauties, and yet the littlest angel drives a pimp mobile."

Dean doesn't answer. He walks towards the Impala without even looking at anything else in the room, pulling his keys out of his jeans pocket and twirling them on his finger. Crowley follows, getting into the passenger's side when Dean opens it for him. The Blade is sitting next to Dean's leg, and Crowley's eyes trail it as the car purrs to life. Dean peels out of the garage and down a narrow passageway to a garage door that begins to open as they approach. Dean speeds up as they turn onto the road, and soon the Impala's headlights are the only thing visible in the night.

/

Castiel has only just settled in a conference room with a group of his fellow angels, intent on making plans for opening the gates once more, when he hears Sam 's voice in his head. "Cas, if you can hear me, I need to talk to you. I know you've probably got a lot on your plate right now, but it's an emergency. Dean's… just get here. Please."

Castiel clutches the table, knuckles white, holding back the floodgate of emotion welling inside him. He had hoped Metatron was merely attempting to distract him so that he might win, but the despair in Sam's voice confirms his worst fears. He stands. "Excuse me, but I have an urgent matter to take care of. I will be back momentarily. Please do not wait for my return to begin." A few angels, including Hannah, look as though they might protest, but he does not let them. He slips out of the room and pulls his phone from his coat pocket. Sam's number is the third on his list. It only takes a moment for Sam to answer.

"Cas, hey."

"Hello, Sam. I apologize for being unable to come. I am still in Heaven, and as you know, my wings are gone."

"Yeah, you okay?" Castiel recognizes stalling when he hears it. He decides not to call Sam out on it.

"I am fine, Sam. Metatron is in prison and all of the angels now know who he is and what he is capable of. What has happened on Earth?"

He can hear Sam swallowing with difficulty and hears the tears in his voice. "Cas, Dean's…"

Cas interrupts him. "I know, Sam. Metatron told me. I'm sorry." Cas feels the gaping pit of sorrow opening in the place where his beat-less human heart lives, but his Grace does not allow the tears he so desperately wishes to shed.

"I've been trying to call Crowley. This is his mess. He's gonna fix it."

"No, Sam. You have to let it go. Dean would want you to let it go."

"Fuck that. I'm not letting him die because of a douche-bag demon, Cas. There has to be a way."

Castiel rubs at his temple and tries to stay calm, but he cannot hold back the way his voice falters. "He is already dead, Sam."

"Not good enough. There has to be something we can do. Crowley tricked him into taking that Mark. This is his mess. He needs to clean it up."

"I agree that Crowley is to blame for this, but there is little we can do at the moment. Let it go. Let Dean go. It's what he would want."

"No," is all Sam says before the line goes dead. Castiel knows better than to call again. Hannah is waiting for him at the door, Eremiel and Dumah standing in formation behind her. He has a sense that no matter how many times he tells them that he is not a leader, they will look to him without fail.

"What are we going to do, Castiel?" Hannah asks.

"I don't know. What do you think we should do?"

"Open the doors of Heaven and let the lost souls in," she answers without hesitation. She has been thinking about it. Perhaps it will be easier than he anticipates to convince her and his other brothers and sisters to learn to govern themselves.

"Then, we shall do that. I will help you, but then I must return to Earth. Dean Winchester is dead, and I wish to attend his funeral."

"And your Grace?" Hannah asks with a look of concern.

Cas clenches one of his fists inside his sleeve, pushing away his worry about the situation. Metatron was correct, as was Hannah. If he does not replenish his Grace, he will die and soon. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that whispers that with Dean gone, there is no reason he cannot go as well. "I will figure that out on my own. Let's get to work."

/

Dean is ten sheets to the wind and fucking vibrating with kinetic energy. Crowley is at the bar, chatting up a gorgeous blond who doesn't look interested, but it doesn't appear to be stopping Crowley any. They'd stopped on their way here to buy Dean a new outfit, at Crowley's insistence. Dean didn't like the shirt, but the jeans fit okay, a little tighter than he's used to, but he can deal. He thinks he might be done wearing Daddy's hand-me-downs anyway. Some crazy bitch is singing a horrible rendition of the Spice Girls on stage, and if she didn't have massive tits and a top two sizes too small, he'd have taken her out by now. An agonizing minute later the bitch is done, and Dean is hopping onto the stage, not bothering to use the stairs and completely disregarding some douche trying to go ahead of him. "Hey!" the guy says, glaring.

Dean flashes his black eyes at the guy with a wicked grin, and he backs the fuck up real quick. Dean programs the song he wants and grabs the microphone, tapping out the first notes of the song as he waits for his time to sing. "She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean,

She was the best damn woman that I ever seen,

She had sightless eyes,

Telling me no lies,

Knockin' me out with those American thighs—"

"BOO! You suck!" someone yells from the back. Dean ignores him and keeps singing, but the heckling gets louder and more obnoxious as the song goes on. Finally, at the declaration that Dean sounds like a 'fucking fag', Dean loses his patience. He jumps off the stage and storms over to the heckler—a fatass in a dirty Cardinals t-shirt. The guy stands, smirking. "Oh, did I huwrt your wittle feewings?" he says.

Dean doesn't bother responding. He decks the guy, putting all of his new strength into it. They guy is instantly laid out flat and his jaw begins swelling almost immediately. "Fuck you, asshole," Dean says, spitting on him. He left the Blade in the car, or he would have sliced the guy's giant belly open and bathed in his blood.

There's a lot of shouting and a bartender is coming out from behind the bar. Dean's being hit by the guy's friends, yelling at him and calling him all sorts of horrible things. Dean grins at them, letting them all get a good look at his black eyes. It has the reaction he was hoping for, and many of the friends step back. The bartender doesn't notice, only shoves people out of the way to get to Dean. "No fighting, Rambo. Get the fuck out of my bar before I call the cops," he says, grabbing onto Dean's sleeve at the shoulder and attempting to drag him towards the door. The guy's pretty built, but Dean's stronger, and he doesn't budge.

"Why would I want to do that? I was having fun."

"Out. Now," is all he gets in answer. Dean snarls at the guy, baring his teeth and giving the guy a good look at his face. The guy takes a step back, shouting, "Jesus fucking Christ! What are you?"

It is at this moment that Crowley appears behind Dean and grabs onto his other arm. He is strong enough to contend with Dean, and he pulls him away slowly. "I'm very sorry about my friend, here. He was raised by wolves and hasn't had his shots this week. We'll be leaving now,"he says, giving Dean a stern look.

Dean allows himself to be dragged away, glaring at the bartender as he goes. Once outside, he snatches his arm away from Crowley and turns the snarl on him. "What'd you do that for? I was about to kick the shit out of that guy."

"Yes, and convince everyone in that bar that you are possessed by a demon. Could you possibly show a little discretion? I didn't get to finish my scotch."

"Suck my dick," Dean says, baring his teeth and black eyes.

"Would that prevent you from acting like a moron? Because I'm not above it, you know." Crowley snaps back.

Dean drops the act. "No thanks, I'm good. Let's go to that place up the street. They've got strippers."

Crowley can't argue with that. "Now that sounds like a lovely idea. Can we keep our… status to ourselves this time, please? I would rather not be kicked out of a strip club. It's embarrassing."

Dean rolls his eyes at him and walks away. They soon find themselves at a table in the VIP lounge with two strippers on their laps. Dean grabs the brunette grinding on his's breasts and squeezes a little squeal out of her. She doesn't seem to mind, even though she told him no touching before she started. He glances over at Crowley to find him whispering in his stripper's ear. Dean can only imagine what he could be saying. Dean pulls his brunette back onto his chest and plays with her nipples, pinching them and tugging at them until he hears her breath catch. She grinds a little faster on his cock, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with her mouth stuck open.

"Wanna take those panties off and go for a ride?" he asks.

She squirms in his lap, giggling. "That's extra, baby."

"Extra, huh? Well, whattya know, I got extra right here." He thrusts his hips up to meet her, and she giggles again. He watches her lift up off his lap and pull her g-string down her thighs. He pussy is hairless and well-used. Dean opens his jeans and pulls out his dick, stroking it a few times while he watches her. She spits on her hand and uses it to wet his shaft, using a strong grip to hold him in place as she slowly slides over him. Inside, she's warm but way too loose. If he'd been human, he'd be worried about disease, but now he can fuck whoever he likes without consequence. He grabs her thighs and drags her down the rest of the way in one swift movement, causing her to cry out in what sounds like pain. He ignores the sound and guides her back up to slam back down again. The pace is fast and harder than Dean's ever liked it before, but he has her coming quickly, shaking over his cock and squirting warm liquid all over the floor in front of them. He makes her ride him for longer, until he comes, not even bothering to pull out despite her protests.

The chick jumps off him as soon as he lets her go, grabbing her clothes and glaring at him. "Jesus, buddy, you better not have gotten me pregnant."

Dean raises an eyebrow. A wad of money hits the woman square in the bare breasts. "Thank you for your services, darling. Be a doll and send another girl in?" Crowley says from across the couch. Dean turns to see Crowley's stripper on her knees in front of Crowley, blonde head bobbing up and down over his lap. The brunette flips him off and storms out, muttering to herself. Dean grabs the bottle of whiskey from the table and takes a swig.

When the new one comes in, she's wearing a black wig and her bright blue eyes remind Dean of Cas. He grins and pulls her on his lap before she can ever say anything. "Hey there," he says.

"Hi. I'm Bambi, what's your name?" the woman asks, her voice warm and smooth like melted butter.

"Dean. Nice to meet you, Bambi. You gonna dance for me?"

"I'll do whatever you want me to do, baby." She rocks her hips over his lap, and Dean is pleased to see that his new abilities include an awesome refractory time. He grins, reaching out to grip her hips. She doesn't protest.

/

Despair is threatening to take over, but Sam doesn't want to let it. There has to be something, some way to bring his brother back to him. As he walks down the long hallway to get to the dorms, his has to snicker at his own hypocrisy. Not six months ago, he had been furious with Dean for not letting him die, and yet now here he is, in the exact same position, and doing exactly what he told Dean he wouldn't do. He understands now, though. It's easy to let go when it's yourself you're letting go of, but it's a lot harder when it's your brother, the only family you have left in this world.

He starts to smell it four doors down from Dean's room, rotten eggs. As he gets closer, the smell becomes strong enough to turn his stomach. Inside the room, it's overwhelming. There are piles of it everywhere, in the corners of the doorway, in the chair, on the floor next to Dean's bed. In Dean's bed, which is missing a very important object. Dean, his body is missing.

"Crowley," Sam growls, digging in his pocket for his phone and immediately calling Cas back.

"Sam, are you alright? I told you I will be there as soon as I can be. I hope you are not doing anything you will come to regret."

"He's gone, Cas. I don't get it. I think Crowley might have taken him. There's sulfur everywhere, even the bed, and the Blade's missing. Why would Crowley take him? What the hell, Cas?"

"I don't know, Sam. Let me settle a few things here, make sure that Metatron is secure in his cell, and I will be there to help you. We will find Crowley and find out where Dean's body is, I promise."

"You said that before. Why isn't he dead?" Sam asks, finally registering that Metatron is in prison and not laid out somewhere with a blade in his chest.

There is a deep sigh on the other end. "I promised the other angels that there will be no more killing of angels. We have imprisoned him and do not intend to ever let him out again, but he remains alive. I know you would rather him be executed, but I have to let my brothers and sisters make their own decisions. He will be punished for his crimes."

Sam isn't happy, but he reluctantly agrees. He would rather the bastard be dead, but he has bigger worries than taking on Heaven to do the job himself. As it stands, if Metatron escapes, Dean's death will have been for nothing. Sam can give Cas a few days to make sure that doesn't happen. But he won't wait around idly. He's going to find out all the information he can in the meantime. He's not letting Crowley get away with his brother's body. "Okay, Cas. Just get here when you can."

"I will see you soon, Sam."

Sam hangs up with a clench of his jaw. He spends an hour picking over the room, looking for clues. The only one he finds is the sulfur. He decides not to waste any more time, and goes to his room to pack a bag. He starts dialing hunters as he packs, and finally catches Darrel Gleesen as he's gets to the garage.

"Sam, is that you?"

"It's me, Darrel. I need you to do me a favor. If you catch wind of any demons, try and trap them for me. I need information, and they're the only ones who can give it to me."

"You and Dean messin' with demons again? I try to stay as far away from those sons a bitches as I can."

"I know Darrel, but this is important. Dean's dead."

There's a hush on the other end of the line. "Dean's dead?"

"Yeah, it's a long story, but I think the King of Hell took his body, and I need to know where to find him to get it back. Can you help me?"

"Sorry to hear that. I knew you boys were into some heavy shit, but I never thought that kid would kick it. I'll do what I can, Sam, don't worry."

"Thank you. Call me if you get anything. And spread the word for me, please."

"Will do. Good luck."

Sam hangs up, and it's then that he notices the Impala is gone. He stands in shock for a minute, uncertain what to do. Why would Crowley take it? He's never shown a particular interest in it before, and it wasn't as though he needed to drive anywhere. Sam tries to think of reasons for Crowley to take the car, but finds none. Crowley isn't one for trophies, and there were a lot more valuable cars in this garage than just the Impala, not that Crowley has ever expressed a need for cash. There's an Aston Martin that looks right out of one of the original Bond movies not five feet from Sam. No, the only person he can think of who would be likely to take the Impala is Dean, but that's impossible. Dean's dead.

Sam decides to put those thoughts away for the moment and grabs a set of keys from the key box to another car, an old Rambler. He's already dialing another hunter as he pulls out of the spot and leaves the Bunker behind.

/

Dean goes through three more strippers before he gets bored and decides to go downstairs to raise a little hell. There's a bachelorette party on the main floor, and it only takes him a second to decide to crash it. "Hello, ladies," he says, sliding into an empty seat next to the bride, as her half-shirt states. They all take one look at him and start giggling and falling all over him.

"Hi, I'm Linda," the bride tells him, swaying towards him.

"Looks like you're about to get married, Linda. That true?"

Linda stares at him with the glassy-eyed stare of the very drunk. "How did you know that?"

Dean tugs the hem of her crop-top, making sure to brush his fingers over her soft, toned stomach. "It's right here on your t-shirt, Linda."

She looks down at it and giggles. "Oh, haha! I forgot! Yes, I'm getting married tomorrow!" she squeals, holding her drink up in a toast to her fellow ladies, who all whoop and holler back at her.

"Sounds like the perfect reason to celebrate. Round of shots on me," Dean says, waving over a waitress in a tiny nurse costume. The group all cheer. The first round of shots is quickly followed by a second and third. The ladies were already drunk when he got there, but by the time he's ordered the forth round, a few of them aren't really coherent, which is fine, because neither is Dean.

Dean feels a warm hand on his back and hot breath on his neck. "I'm not getting married tomorrow," a woman says in Dean's favorite tone of voice.

Dean turns to meet the sultry eyes of an Indian woman sitting on his other side and smiles his sex smile. "That right?"

"Neither am I!" says a giggly man across from them. Dean glances at him and finds a cute little twink grinning at him. He smiles back, looking him up and down.

"Yeah?"

Linda grabs his arm to get his attention again. "I'm not married yet," she says. Dean grins at her.

"What a coincidence, neither am I. How about we find a hotel room and celebrate?"

Linda nods so hard Dean's surprised her neck doesn't snap. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I have a hotel room down the street."

Dean stands, taking Linda's hand to help her up as well. "Shall we?"

"But what about me?" the twink says, sticking his bottom lip out.

"And me!" the Indian woman parrots.

"Who said you weren't invited?" Dean croons, leaning over the Indian woman's chair and flashing a flirty smile Twink's way. He leans over the woman's head to announce to the rest of the table. "Anyone else wanna join us?"

Two other women jump up from the table to join them, while the remaining two women give them all scandalized looks. Dean puts an arm around Linda and the Indian woman and leads them towards the exit, the rest of his entourage trailing behind them.

He wakes the next morning buried under a pile of naked bodies with dried come in uncomfortable places, but he hasn't felt as good since… ever. A clearing of a throat across the room grabs his attention, and he finds Crowley sitting in a lounge chair twirling the Blade in his hand. "I see you enjoyed yourself last night. Well done."

Dean grins and stretches his arms over his head, arching his back to work out the kinks in it. The twink he fucked three times last night shifts to the side, mumbling in his sleep. A brunette he doesn't even remember coming with them curls up next to the twink without waking up. She has a bruise on her ass the exact size and shape of Dean's hand, and Dean takes a moment to admire his work. "It was alright," he says to Crowley, crawling over the Indian woman to stand and stretch some more. He ignores the appreciative look Crowley gives him.

"I'm glad. Clean up and we can get on our merry way. I have so much more to show you."

Dean grunts and heads for the shower, stepping over two more naked bodies on his way. He flicks his hand behind him as he reaches the door and the Blade shoots into it. "Don't touch my things," he says without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

Without the interference and distractions Metatron had put in their way, Castiel and the other angels are able to organize a team to develop a counter-spell, but it takes several days of discussion and confusion before Castiel can convince them that they can be self-sufficient. When he is finally able to get away, he feels exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. He knows it is a sign of his depleting Grace, but he cannot stop to rest and recuperate. Dean's body is missing, and without guidance, there is no telling what Sam has been doing to get it back.

When he finds Sam, it is in a barn south of Tulsa with a demon chained to the rafters with warded manacles taken from the Bunker. When Castiel walks into the barn, Sam is slowly cutting the flesh from the demon's arm while the demon screams with enough force to rupture a normal human's vocal chords. Castiel hurries to Sam's side and pulls him away, forcibly taking the knife from him. "Sam, what are you doing? We do not torture people. Dean would not approve."

When Sam turns to him, his eyes are wild and his entire body is tense. He looks manic and as though he hasn't slept in days. "I'm not torturing a person. I'm torturing a demon, and this evil scum is going to tell me where his disgusting maggot of a leader is, or I'm going to cut his heart out and feed it to him."

Castiel takes a step back. He has never witnessed Sam in such a state before, and it disturbs him in ways he cannot put words to. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The demon does the talking for him—or rather the laughing. He begins to cackle, head bent over his chest. He grins up at them with a mouth full of missing and bloodied teeth. One of his ears looks as though it has been partially amputated. "You think I'm going to tell you anything about Crowley, Winchester? Why would I do that when I can watch you suffer, worrying about your poor, sad, dead brother?"

Sam growls and makes a move toward the demon, but Castiel holds him back. "Stop. Think. He wants you to get upset and kill him."

"I want to kill him. He's a demon, Cas. He doesn't deserve to live."

"And the human being inside him? Does he deserve this?" Castiel holds his gaze until he capitulates.

Sam's shoulders slump. "No."

The demon laughs at them. Castiel scowls at him and pulls Sam out of the barn, away from the temptation so they can talk. "Sam, I understand that you are upset. I am as devastated by Dean's loss as you are, but this cannot happen. We do not torture people, even demons."

"How else are we supposed to find Crowley? I've tried summoning him a dozen times. He's not showing up."

Castiel studies Sam's face closely, watching the fear and guilt and hatred and dark, unending despair swirl around his cracked and bleeding soul, thinking. What can he say that will convince Sam to step back from this cliff? What would Dean say? "Cain. We will go to Cain. He's a Knight of Hell. He has access to information that low-level demons won't. Dean said that Cain did what he did to save his brother. Perhaps you can convince him to help you find yours."

It's the right thing to say if the way Sam sets his shoulders is an indication. "Do you know where to find him?"

"No, but the demon might. I will ask him. You stay out here."

Sam looks like he might protest, but Castiel stares him down. The demon is slumped over again when Castiel re-enters the barn. He doesn't look up as Castiel nears him. "Wonderful, I get to be tortured by the angel lapdog now. Too much for the man-child?"

"I understand that a few months ago, several dozen of your friends were slaughtered by the first Knight of Hell. Do you know where they found him?"

The demon narrows his eyes at Castiel. "How do you know about that?"

"Answer the question, or I will smite you from this Earth."

The demon says nothing. Castiel steps closer, holding his hand out. He will not waste the last of his Grace on such a miserable creature, but the demon does not need to know that.

"Wait, wait! Fine, I'll play. I know where Cain lives."

"I thought you might. Where is he?"

The demon hesitates. Castiel presses his hand to his forehead with clear intent. "He's in Missouri."

"Missouri? Can you be more specific?"

"Somewhere in the middle? I don't know the address."

Castiel pulls his hand away, wiping it off on his coat. "Thank you." Before the demon can respond, he begins the exorcism. The demon smokes out screaming. The body left behind slumps over, completely limp. Castiel worries that the human is dead. He holds his hand to the man's forehead again and searches for a soul. It is there, but weak. He does what healing he can spare, but it is only barely enough to keep the man from dying on his way to the hospital.

"Did you get it?" Sam asks, appearing behind him.

"I told you to stay outside."

"I saw the smoke. I figured you were done. Did he tell you where Cain is?"

"Yes and no. He said Cain is in the middle of Missouri, but he did not specify a town."

"Great. Okay, so we need to find another demon who knows which town in the middle of Missouri."

Castiel frowns at Sam. "We need to take this man to a hospital before he dies. I will contact Heaven to see if they can narrow the location for us. No more torture."

"Yeah, okay…" Sam agrees, but he doesn't make eye contact.

Castiel grabs onto his forearms and forces Sam to look him in the eyes. "No, you must promise me that you will not torture anyone else. Dean would be furious if he found out that you had hurt anyone intentionally, even a demon. You have to promise."

"Dean was all gung-ho to torture that angel a couple weeks ago. What makes you think he'd be upset about this? I'm trying to get him back."

"A few weeks ago, Dean was not himself, as is evidenced by his attempted murder of Gadreel. The real Dean, the one uninfluenced by dark forces, would do anything in his power to stop you from doing this. I will do anything in my power to stop you in his place. Do you promise?"

Sam sighs and his jaw clenches, but he gives a tight little nod.

"Thank you. Let's take this man to the hospital." He turns and wraps his arms around the limp body, holding him up so that he does not sustain futher injury when released.. Sam comes over to help him, unlocking the cuffs and pocketing them. The man collapses when everything holding him to it is removed, Castiel's grip on him the only thing keeping him from crashing to the floor. They take him to Sam's car, which gives Castiel pause. "Where is the Impala?"

"Crowley took it, I guess. It was gone from the garage. I don't know why he bothered, though. It's not like he needs a car." Sam hefts the man into the back seat and gets in the front. Castiel slips into the back to make sure the man does not get further injuries on the journey to the hospital. When they get there, Castiel is disappointed to find that they must drop the man at the ER and leave as quickly as possible. He had hoped to at least be able to talk to the man, explain what had happened. He remembers being human and all the confusion that went along with it. He is no longer comfortable leaving humans without a more complete answer to what has happened to them. It is Sam who reminds him that he is still covered with the man's blood, and that there is a distinct possibility that the man will remember what happened when he wakes up and incriminate Sam to the authorities. There is enough evidence on Sam to convince a jury, and after all, it would be the truth. So they carry the man into the emergency room with care, but slip away as soon as possible, long before there is any possibility of the man waking. They are in Kansas within a few hours.

/

The angels are no help them. Their information is about as specific as the demon's had been. In the end, they decide to drive across the state grid-style until they find it, not that either of them was sure what 'it' was. Sam thought finding a higher-level demon would have been a better strategy, but he knows better than to mention that to Cas. They have to criss-cross Missouri five times each before they finally find the house, and in the end, all their work is for nothing. When Sam calls Castiel, it is from Cain's former living room, soaked through with the blood of demons and completely empty. "Dammit, Cas, he's not here," Sam says.

"Where is 'here', Sam? How do you know you are at the right place?"

"Uh, the pile of dead demons in the shed was a big hint. There's also a lot of bees. Dean said he's a beekeeper."

"He is?" Cas' voice matches the surprised pleasure it had when he thought they had a guinea pig at the bunker. Sam rolls his eyes.

"Focus, Cas. The point is he isn't here, which means we have no leads and no way to find him."

"I understand. Tell me where you are, and I will get there. Perhaps he left clues as to his intended destination when he left."

"I don't think so, Cas. He cleaned the house out. No belongings, no furniture. There's still food rotting in the fridge, none of it eaten as far as I can tell, and there's a kitchen table splattered with blood, but that's it. He took everything else."

"Give me the address, Sam."

Sam does and pokes around the house some more while he waits for Cas to get there. He again finds nothing, not even a leftover sock. A regular locater spell is out of the question, unless they could use one of the bees. He doubts the connection would be strong enough. He goes to the front door when he hears the Lincoln Continental pull up. Cas doesn't go to the porch right away. He stands with a hand on the open driver's side door of his car and stares at the house without really looking at it. Sam thinks he sees unease on his face and jogs over to meet him. "You okay?"

"You were right, Sam. This is Cain's home," Cas says in a hushed, rough voice.

Sam frowns. "How do you know?"

"There was a great evil here. I felt it as soon as I stepped foot out of the car. The entire property is infused with it. I'm surprised you do not feel anything."

"Not exactly an angel here, Cas."

"No, but you do have demon blood in your veins. Cain's presence should call to it, even though it has lain dormant for several years."

Sam frowns at him. "Thanks, Cas. I definitely need a reminder of that right now. Can we focus? This is Cain's house, but Cain's gone. I've been looking around, and I don't see anything that could hint to where he's going next. There's no personal property left, so no locater spell. I don't think the guy has a cell phone, so we can't track his GPS. How are we supposed to find him?"

Cas doesn't say anything for a while, but he does step away from the car finally and start pacing around the yard. Sam follows him with his eyes, but he can't tell that Cas is really looking for anything. He's just… walking. Sam leans against the car door and waits.

"We need to return to the bunker," Castiel says after a good twenty minutes of pacing. He crosses the distance to Sam in a few quick strides and rounds the car door.

"You think Cain's at the bunker?"

Castiel gives him the look that says he isn't quite sure how humans evolved from apes. "No, I think there will be either a tracking or summoning spell at the bunker that we can use to locate him. The library at the bunker is particularly well-stocked. If there is a spell that can aid us, it is likely there."

Sam nods, understanding now. "Okay, I guess that's the best we got for now. I'll meet you there." He steps out of Cas' way and goes to his own car.

When he gets back to the bunker a few hours later, Castiel isn't there yet. Sam gets to work without a second thought, going to the library and pulling out the catalog. When Cas finally shows up an hour later, he's knee-deep in boxes in the archive. "What took you so long?" Sam asks.

"I forgot to fill the gas tank and had to walk several miles to the nearest station."

Sam stares at him for a half a second before deciding not to comment. "Well, while you were fueling, I've been going through the archives. So far I've got squat on anything dealing with Cain."

"We will keep looking. If it exists, it is here."

Sam nods, but doubt dwells in the back of his mind. He thinks it would be better to go after more demons, find Crowley. Cain may or may not be able to help them, but Sam doesn't want to waste their time searching for weeks for him if their time could be better spent looking elsewhere. He decides to give it three days.

/

Sam had not expected that they would find anything. Castiel recognizes the signs of his doubt in a number of silent, but unmistakable glances. Castiel does not blame him for his doubt. Sam wants to find his brother's body as quickly as possible and sitting in a bunker reading through archives had to be frustrating. Castiel himself tries not to think about what was happening to Dean's body. It distracts him from the task at hand and leaves him with a cold, angry feeling in his gut. He misses Dean, knows that the gaping whole in his heart where Dean has always lived will never heal, but he hopes that being able to put the man to rest will somehow ease the hurt.

It is on the third day that Castiel finds the ritual in a hand-written grimoire buried deep within the archive. "Sam, I believe I have found something," he says, loud enough for Sam to hear him on the other side of the room.

Sam hurries to his side, knocking a box over in his hurry and nearly bowling Castiel over as well. He takes the book from Castiel without asking and starts reading where he points. Castiel waits, watching the understanding bloom on Sam's face. He had expected his friend to smile, to be happy that they had finally found what they were looking for, but he doesn't. He nods solemnly and hands the book back. "We don't have essence of kraken or the blood of a demon."

"You don't have blood of a demon?" Castiel asks, surprised.

Sam levels a look at him. "No, Cas, as you were so quick to remind me the other day, former addict here. We don't keep the stuff around the house. We can find another demon, though."

"Not necessary. I will call Hannah. She should be able to acquire the kraken essences as well." His phone gets very little reception this far underground, despite the reception booster Dean put in months ago, so he makes his way outside to make the call. It takes several rings to get an answer.

"Castiel? Are you ready to come back? We are having difficulty getting information from Metatron. We could use your guidance."

"No, Hannah, I am not ready to return. You are doing well on your own; I am confident of that. I am attempting a spell to summon a demon we think might have information on how to find Dean's body, but we are missing two key ingredients. Would it be possible for one of you to bring essence of kraken and demon blood to my location? I would retrieve the items myself, but as you know my Grace is severely depleted."

"Yes, I know. Are you planning on doing anything about that? You will die without replenishing it. You know that, Castiel. I for one do not wish to lose you. Enough of our brothers and sisters have been lost already."

"I will figure out a solution after I have found Dean's body. There is no telling what Crowley could be doing with it, but it is doubtful that he does anything good. I have to find it."

"If that's what you want, then so-be-it. I will send someone down to you with the items. Essence of kraken and demon blood?"

"Yes, thank you, Hannah. Take care. I will talk to you soon."

"Goodbye, Castiel." Before Castiel has even hung up, there is an angel standing in front of him holding a paper bag. He hands the items over silently with an unnecessary bow and disappears again. Castiel looks inside the bag to find the ingredients they need. He returns to Sam with them and they begin the ritual.

/

"Tennessee? I get why the demon couldn't be specific about where Cain's house was in the first place. It looks like he's near Memphis, but I can't tell," Sam says, picking the thin fragment of map up in his hand and peering at the tiny burn hole in the corner of it. He should be happy the ritual worked, but he's even more confused now than before. He was expecting to have to go to Africa or something. Why would Cain hide only two states over from where he was before?

Cas looks over his shoulder, peering at the little singed paper. "We can do as we did before and criss-cross the area until we find him."

"It won't do you any good if you're looking for me," a voice says from across the room. Sam and Cas both startle, looking behind them to find a middle-aged man with a beard and beekeeper's outfit on. Cas makes a noise that sounds almost like a growl and steps in front of Sam, shielding him with his arm, his angel blade sliding into his hand at the same time.

"Who are you, and how'd you get in here?" Sam asks, undeterred.

"Your security isn't very tight. Who do you think I am? Ever since your brother and the pissant demon with him found me, I've kept track of the use of this spell."

"Cain?" Sam asks.

The man nods, directing his stare at Cas. "You don't have to shield the human, Castiel. I didn't come here to harm either of you."

"Then why are you here, demon?" Cas asks in a voice of pure fury, glaring at him in the way that leaves little doubt what he would like to do to Cain. Sam wants to hit him. They need information from Cain. Antagonizing him isn't going to help. Plus, Sam's pretty sure the guy could take Cas out with a look.

Cain narrows his eyes on Cas. "Angels, always so quick to anger. You know you've got a little problem, don't you? That Grace of yours isn't going to last much longer."

"That isn't your concern."

Cain shrugs, almost nonchalant. He pulls a chair out from one of the study tables and plops into it, propping his feet on the table. It puts Sam further on edge. "I came so that you will stop looking, and to give you a bit of advice. That ritual is searching for the source of the Blade, not me. I passed that power on. It's not looking for me."

Sam's heart speeds up and he side-steps Cas in his determination to get answers. "Are you trying to say the spell showed us where Dean is? That's impossible. Dean's dead." It doesn't even hurt him to say it. With a week to get used to the loss, he can talk about it without feeling it now.

Cain picks at his nails. "Did Crowley happen to mention how I became a demon?"

"Lucifer made you one when he gave you the Mark."

"Not exactly. The Mark gave me the power and the blood-lust, but it didn't make me a demon. I became what I'm sure Dean was turning into before he died, a blood-thirsty, compulsive murderer. The Mark desires the slaughter of other creatures in order to thrive. I could no longer consciously kill, so I took the Blade and buried it in my own chest. I died. And then I woke up as I am today. The same thing happened to your brother. Dean isn't dead. He's a Knight."

The words echo in Sam's head over and over and over again. Dean isn't dead. He's a Knight. Over and over. How could he have been so stupid? Why else would the Impala be gone except that Dean took it? What could Crowley possibly want with Dean's body badly enough to break into the bunker to get it? It makes much more sense that Dean got up and walked out with Crowley of his own free will. A sinking feeling of dread fills Sam. If Dean's a Knight, that means… "Are you saying that Dean's a demon?"

Cain considers Sam. "In the most basic of terms."

"Do you know this for certain?" Castiel asks.

"I created the Knights."

"Yeah…" Sam trails off, still uncertain.

"They are all connected to me through the Mark."

"So what, you feel a shift in the Force every time one of them pops up?"

Cain looks unimpressed. Sam knows he should be scared of Cain—Dean had told him Crowley called him the Father of Murder, after all—but he's too freaked out about Dean to focus on that right now.

"Sam is referring to the universal force that encompasses all matter and is used by the Jedi in the movie Star Wars to sense and control the world around them," Cas explains in his clunky way. Sam still can't believe he and Dean didn't get to introduce him to the movies themselves.

Cain levels his look on Cas. "I've seen the film, thank you." He stand up, turning his attention back to Sam. "You have what you need. Leave me alone, or I will have to force the issue." He doesn't let Sam respond. He's gone with a blink of the eye.

Sam curses and collapses into a chair, burying his face in his hands. "Fuck." Dean isn't dead. He's a Knight. Dean isn't dead. He's a Knight. With Cain gone, the statement gets louder and louder in his head until he can barely think around it.

Castiel takes the seat across from him. "Fuck indeed," he says. Sam looks up at him, side-tracked by the curse. He's never heard Cas curse before. Cas' eyes are sad, and he looks as lost and desperate as Sam feels. "What are we going to do now?"

"Find Dean, figure out a way to fix this."

Cas hesitates. "If we can't?"

"What, find him? We already know he's in Memphis."

"No, what if we can't restore his humanity? Dean would not wish to be a demon."

Sam sets his jaw, knowing what will have to be done. "Then, we'll take him out. He's a… a uh… a demon, now. We treat him like any other demon."

"He isn't entirely a demon though, Sam. He's a Knight of Hell. From your attempts to eliminate Abaddon, we know that they cannot be killed by anyone other than another Knight."

"Then, we'll bring him to Cain and Cain can take him out. He killed all the others, didn't he?"

"He made it very clear that we are not to seek him out again, Sam."

"I guess we'll figure it out when we get there, then, won't we, Cas? For now, let's just find Dean. That's what's important."

Cas still looks sad when he agrees, but there's nothing Sam can do about it. If he's honest, he's two steps from losing it himself. Only the determination to find Dean and fix this keeps him from having a break down. He stands, not bothering to push his chair back in. "Alright, pack what you need. We leave in ten." He leaves Cas at the table and goes to pack his own bag.

/

When they roll up to Memphis, Sam finds the most expensive hotel in the phone book and goes there to interrogate the clerk. Cas goes with him, but he can sense Cas' skepticism.

"Why do you believe Dean would be here?" he asks as they enter the lobby. Sam's grossly under-dressed for the setting, Cas only a little better with his white button-down and trench, a fact made clearer when a woman walks by in six-inch stilettos and a mini dress so heavy with sequins, Sam is baffled as to how she can walk without slouching over. She eyes Sam up and down with a sneer of disapproval as they pass. The floor is marble, for fuck's sake. Sam hasn't seen luxury like this since that truth goddess they ganked back in 2010.

"Dean isn't Dean anymore, right? He's not gonna think the same way he did before, do the same stuff. This is the last place old-Dean would have gone, so this is where we start. Besides, it sounds like he's running around with Crowley. This place has Crowley written all over it." Sam walks up to the front desk and smiles at the clerk standing there in a tuxedo and a frown.

"May I help you?" the clerk asks, tone implying that Sam better make it quick because he's contaminating this dude's area.

"Yeah, hi, I'm looking for my brother. We were supposed to meet here at six, but I don't see him. He's a couple inches shorter than me, short brown hair, probably in jeans and a button-down. Name's Dean Winchester."

"I'm sorry, sir, but no one fitting that description has been seen in the hotel, I can assure you. If there is nothing else..?"

"Are you sure? He'd probably be with an English guy, three-piece suit, balding, about this tall." Sam lifts his hand to shoulder-height. "He goes by the name of Crowley."

Recognition flickers across the clerk's face and he nods. "I do recall a Mr. Crowley taking care of a bill three days ago before leaving with a gentleman who might fit the description you've just given me. I do not believe they have returned, though, nor do I think they intend to."

Sam nods, clenching his fist on the counter. Three days ago. Great. "Thanks, I appreciate your help. Did they happen to say where they were going?"

"They did not, sir. If there is nothing else?"

"Yeah, no, thanks." Sam turns away from the clerk and frowns at Cas. "Well, at least we know he was here. I guess we'll have to ask around town."

"Where should we go next?"

"Let's split up, canvas the bars around here. They were bound to go into at least one of them."

"Alright, if you think that's wise." Cas follows him back out of the hotel, and they look down the street at a line of bars and restaurants.

"You got your phone on you?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll go this way, you head that way. Call if you find anything." They split up and Sam wanders down to the nearest bar. It's still early and the bar is practically empty, which means the bartender is free. Sam walks up with a friendly smile and gives him Dean's description.

The guy rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, that asshole was in here. He smacked my best waitress' ass and punched out one of my regulars for bumping into him on the way out of the can. I kicked him out, and I hope I never see that prick again. You can tell him I said that, too, if you find him."

Sam should be surprised, but he isn't. He had been expecting much worse. "Thanks. I'm sorry about his behavior. I'll make sure to let him know he's not welcome back here when I see him." Sam stuffs a ten in the guy's tip jar as apology and heads to the next place.

Ten bars later, a pattern is starting to emerge. In four nights, Dean had apparently gotten into a dozen fights, had sex in the restrooms with ten-odd people—not all of them women, which had thrown Sam for a loop—and broken eight pieces of furniture. There were six unpaid bar tabs, totaling around $700. There had also been seven descriptions of Dean having black eyes. Sam's stomach does an uncomfortable flip at the thought. From what he can gather, Crowley was there for all of it, goading Dean on or pulling him away, depending on the severity of the situation.

Sam's phone starts buzzing as he walks out of a night club. "Hey Cas, you got anything?"

"Dean apparently had unprotected sex with an employee at the Angels strip club. The woman seems extremely displeased with this, and has informed me that she might be pregnant. She says Crowley threw money at her and dismissed her. She says it is not enough for an abortion if she is pregnant and is demanding I give her the difference. What should I do, Sam?"

Sam sighs. Sex with a stripper. Classy, Dean, classy. …Wait, did Cas say… "Angels? Please tell me you're kidding."

"The name is unfortunate, but I am not, in fact, 'kidding'." Sam can hear the air quotes in his voice and rues the day he was ever taught that particular gesture.

Sam rubs at his face, trying to force down an inappropriate laugh. This is just a little bit too much. "Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes. Are you on the same road?"

"No, I am on 64th Street."

"Okay, I'll see you in a minute. Don't give her any money." Sam hangs up and hurries down the street. By the time he gets to the strip club—indeed called Angels of all things—he has a headache. The woman looks rough, like she's been through some things and might have picked up a few diseases for her troubles. Cas looks perplexed by her and supremely uncomfortable. Perfect.

"Sam, this is…" Cas looks to the woman.

"Ambyr," the woman says.

"Ambyr yes, I apologize. My memory is not what it usually is. Ambyr engaged in… relations with Dean."

"You're sure it was this man you… danced for?" Sam asks, pulling out his phone and showing her a picture of Dean he took last year. She squints at the picture and then points frantically at it.

"Oh yeah, that's the asshole. I told him to pull out, but he wouldn't. He was so strong. And then that fat guy with him threw money at me and told me to send in another girl. They're both psychopaths. I could be pregnant. I want the money to have an abortion if I am."

Sam gives her his most patient smile and puts a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Hi Ambyr, I'm Sam. Dean's not in his right mind at the moment. I apologize for his behavior. Castiel and I are trying to find him so that we can get him well. Is there anything else you can tell us about his movement? Did you see him after you left him at all, even in passing?"

"I saw him pick up a bachelorette party and leave with them."

"A bachelorette party? Who would I talk to about possibly getting the organizer's contact information?"

"Bobby would probably know, but I doubt he'll give you the information. We're not allowed to give out info about our guests."

Sam continues to smile patiently. "Where can I find Bobby?" Ambyr points towards the bar where a man is talking to one of the female bartender's as he helps her unload a crate of flavored vodkas. "Thank you, Ambyr. You've been a big help."

He turns away, grasping Cas' elbow to take him with, but is stopped by Ambyr's insistent question. "What about my money?"

Sam clenches his jaw, impatient to get away from this woman now that he has his information. They are running out of time. Dean could be half-way to Las Vegas or who knows where by now. "It sounds to me like you already got your money. If you don't want to end up pregnant, maybe you should stop having sex with your clients. Thanks for the tip. Come on, Cas." Sam turns from her, ignoring her protestations and heads for the bar.

"Was that not rude, Sam?" Castiel asks.

"Probably. We don't have time for crazy people and hookers, Cas. Let's see what we can find out from this Bobby guy." Sam

Sam smiles at the two behind the bar as they approach and leans against it. "Hi, are you Bobby?" he asks the guy. He looks about Sam's age, in shape and obviously the kind of guy who cares a little too much about his appearance, but he looks like he also might have a sharper intellect than Sam usually likes in people he's trying to pry information from.

"Yeah, who's asking?"

"I'm Sam. I'm looking for my brother, and according to Ambyr, he left with a bachelorette party a few nights ago. I was hoping they might have made a reservation."

Bobby narrows his eyes at Sam. "I think I know who you're talking about. Your brother almost got kicked out. Twice. He needs to learn how to keep his hands to himself."

Sam forces another smile through his wince. "Dean's going through some stuff right now. I'm trying to track him down to get him some help. Did the person who made the reservation for the bachelorette party leave contact info, by chance? They're my best lead."

Bobby looks like he might help, but then shakes his head. "Sorry, man, I can't give out client information."

Sam digs around in his jacket pockets until he finds his fake FBI badge and shows it to Bobby. "I understand that, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist. I don't want to send file requisition paperwork on this, but I will, if I have to. I'm sure the local PD would be interested to hear that you let your girls sleep with clients on the premises."

Bobby eyes the badge and makes a pained face. "Fine, give me a minute." He walks away muttering. Sam glances at the bartender, but she doesn't acknowledge him. He turns to Cas, who doesn't even appear to be paying attention. He's looking at the empty stage with squinted eyes and a frown. Sam taps his fingers on the bar and waits. A few minutes later, Bobby comes out of a back-room office holding a piece of paper. He practically throws it at Sam. "There, that's the Maid of Honor's info. I better not hear anything about cops snooping 'round here, got it?"

Sam checks the paper to see the name and phone number of a woman written in neat capitals. "You got it, thanks." He turns and shuffles Cas out of the front door, already reaching for his cell to call the number. "Okay, let's head to the car while I call this girl. Hopefully she'll know where Dean went next."

"What do we do it she doesn't?"

"We'll try something else, maybe that spell again. We can track down enough ingredients to do it again, right?" Cas nods affirmation. "If that doesn't work, we'll have to look for more demons."

Cas clearly doesn't approve of this option.

Sam tugs at his hair, pushing it behind his ear violently. "Look, Cas, Dean's off the rails in a big way. We have to find him and figure out a way to fix this."

"This is not the way we do that."

"Crowley's with him, right? How else are we going to find out where he is? He doesn't exactly have GPS on his phone."

"Sam, I told you. No more demon torture. Dean wouldn't like it."

"Do you have another idea, Cas? 'Cause I'm open to whatever you got."

Sam sees the annoyance flash across Cas' face from the corner of his eye, but Cas doesn't say anything. Argument over, then.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been three weeks since Dean woke up from the nightmare that was his human existence, and he can't figure out why he ever thought being a demon was a bad idea. He's spent the last three weeks boozing it up, sleeping with whoever he feels like—including dudes, which is way more awesome than he remembers from those back alleys in high school, trying to put food in Sammy's mouth—and best of all, he no longer has a whiny little brother on his back, making him feel guilty for enjoying himself. He grins at the thought and takes another swig of beer. Crowley smirks at him, sitting across the table from him in their latest hole-in-the-wall.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing, I'm just glad you're enjoying yourself. I always knew there was a wild man under all that guilt and self-loathing. It's nice to see you free of it all." Crowley finishes the last of his drink and motions to the waitress to get them another round.

"I was just thinkin' the same thing."

Crowley nods, but waits for the waitress to drop off their drinks with a flirty smile towards Dean before speaking again. "Now that you've grown comfortable with your new status, perhaps it's time to discuss what you'd like to do with your life."

Dean frowns, confused. "Pretty sure I'm doin' it," he says.

"Yes, you are, at that, but I know you, Dean. You've got all this power now. Sooner or later, you'll start looking for a reason to use it—a goal, if you will. I was merely curious what you think that goal might look like."

Dean stares down at his beer bottle, shifting it in his hand. He hadn't really been thinking of doing anything more than what he's been doing. The best part of his new life is being free from the obligation. "I don't know, Crowley, but it sounds like you might have some ideas."

"You would be correct. I need a right-hand man, someone to add structure and stability to my reign. After what happened with Abaddon, many of my subjects have lost their confidence in me. Having the man who killed the vermin at my side would do wonders for building my power base back up."

"You want me to be your lapdog?" Dean snorts, shaking his head. There's no way in fuck he's gonna let that fly.

"No, no, not at all. I am proposing that you become my partner. Think of it, the King of Hell and Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell, working together. We could revolutionize Hell, make it better, stronger. Together, we could crush our enemies and rule this planet like the gods we should be."

Dean raises his eyebrows. He understands what Crowley's getting at, he thinks, and he can't say he's adverse to the idea, but he's definitely going to need a little more detail. "What enemies are we talking about, now?"

"Angels. Hunters. Traitors. Anyone who opposes us. With your Mark and my command over Hell, we could destroy them all. We could take over the Earth, make it our playground. The humans would be putty in our hands."

Dean shrugs one shoulder. "Sure, why not." What else does he have to do, after all? He takes a sip of his beer, thinking, then turns back to Crowley. "Let's get one thing straight, though. I'm not gonna be at your beckon-call. And I'm definitely not gonna be your lackey."

"Of course not. You're my friend."

"Yeah, okay," Dean says with more than a little skepticism. "Where do we start, then?"

"Here, for now. The night is young. Let's celebrate our new partnership in style." Crowley lifts his glass and clinks it with Dean's beer bottle, and they both drink a toast.

An hour later, Dean's at the bar getting a round of shots for a lovely group of college students, when some asshole frat kid decides to butt in and accuse Dean of trying to steal his lady. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the lady in question, leaning close to tell her what an asshat her boyfriend is, when the guy shoves his shoulder. Dean whips around and punches the guy square in the nose, not holding back any of his strength. He hears the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage and grins at the stunned look on the guy's face as he cradles his broken nose. The guy lunges for him, but Dean's quicker and uses his momentum against him to shove him into a group of tables, one of which is occupied by a two stunned married couples. The frat guy leans against one of the tables, groaning and a little dazed-looking. Dean grins at him, feeling loose and ready for a real fight. He is sadly disappointed when the girl he'd been flirting with hurries to her boyfriend's side with a dirty look at Dean.

"What's wrong with you, you animal? You didn't have to practically beat the crap out of him," she scolds before turning to tend to the guy's wounds.

Dean feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and sighs. This is the fourth bar this week alone. "Let me guess, I need to clear out?" Dean asks, turning to find the bartender/owner standing behind him with a stern look. The man just glares at him and points to the door. "Yeah, yeah, on my way. Jesus, you get in one fight…" he mutters to himself, sending a nod over to Crowley, still at their table and leaning over a giggling young woman sitting in the seat next to him. Crowley glances at the injured frat boy, then at Dean standing at the door, says something to the young woman, and gets out of his seat to meet Dean. Dean goes outside without waiting for him, rolling his shoulders to relieve some tension. He really wanted a fight. Now he has all this pent-up energy and nowhere to put it.

"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" Crowley says with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

"I was bored anyway. Wanna hit up that 7/11?" he asks, pointing up the street to a bright storefront.

"What for?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know, booze? Porn? Let's go and see."

Crowley eyes the shop, then Dean again, and shakes his head. "I've almost got that girl's deal in there. You go. Text me when you're done, and I'll meet you." Crowley heads back into the bar without waiting for Dean's reply.

"Whatever."

The store is empty except for the pimply kid at the counter. Dean wanders the aisles for a little while, not really looking for anything. The front door opens again, the bell tinkling. Dean is barely aware that someone else is in the store until that someone grabs his head from behind and slams it into the refrigerator glass, busting it open. Dean whips around to find the stupid frat boy panting a few feet away, glaring at Dean. Somewhere behind them, the kid is yelling.

"I wasn't done with you, asshole."

Dean shifts his head to the side, smirking. "No? You're gonna be." He lunges at the guy, gripping his shoulders and throwing him across the room and into a shelf of twinkies. The guy rolls onto the ground and tries to get up with a groan, but Dean's on him before he can even sit up, straddling his chest and punching him in the face until he can no longer recognize the features on it through all the blood. The guy doesn't move after that, and Dean gets up.

The kid is yelling at him hysterically, tears running down his face, a phone in his hand. Dean reaches over the counter and snatches the phone away, smashing it on the floor and using his steel-toed boot to stomp on it. "Please, Mister, don't hurt me."

Dean ignores his plea. "Where's the porn?"

The kid stares at him like he's an alien, but one quick slam of a fist to the counter has him shakily pointing to the magazine stand. Dean smiles and wanders over. He finds Busty Asian Beauties, and spends a long few minutes admiring the rack on Miss November. He grabs a few of the other skin mags and waves them at the kid. "Thanks, I'm taking these." He goes back to the wall of fridges and reaches through the broken door of the one he'd been thrown into and pulls out a case of beer. "These, too. Have a nice day, now."

He salutes with the magazines and leaves, walking back to the Impala, parked on the other side of the block. He shoots a quick text to Crowley, pops a beer open, and spreads Busty Asian Beauties out on his lap, content to wait.

/

The police report doesn't do the severity of the frat guy's face justice. It is a mess of cuts and bruises that travel as far down his neck as Sam can see above the neck brace. Sam winces when he first sees it, and immediately buys the guy a beer as any apology. "So, when he left the bar, can I ask why you followed him to the convenience store? He'd already proven how violent he could be, hadn't he? Didn't you think there might be a risk of further violence?"

The guy shrugs. "Dude, I was drunk, and that asshole had just showed me up in front of my girl. I had to save face."

"By following the man to a convenience store and shoving his head into a refrigerator door? Mr. Martin, does that sound like an intelligent move to you?"

"It did at the time. I was drunk, remember?"

"Yes. And now you have a sprained neck and a severely bruised face for your trouble. Did the man say anything to you?"

"Not really. Just threw me against the shelves and then pummeled my face. Dude was strong. I mean, he looked pretty built, but I'm 225, and he threw me around like I was made of fucking feathers. It was crazy."

Sam nods, pretending to jot things down. "Is there anything else you can tell me? Did he or his friend indicate where they might be going before you… uh… passed out?"

The guy gives him a hard look. "No. You gonna catch this guy, or what? I wanna see him rot in jail."

"We'll do our best. Thank you for your time." Sam gets up with a half-smile and heads back to where Cas is standing by the door, awkward as usual. They've been on Dean and Crowley's trail for a month, always three steps behind no matter how hard they try. They caught one demon in Minnesota, but she was not very helpful, and Cas hadn't spoken to Sam for three days after. Sam doesn't plan on telling Cas when he catches another. At the moment, they're in Colorado, and Sam is no longer surprised by the stories his witnesses tell. Dean is completely and utterly off the rails. He killed a man in Ohio, a father of three. There hadn't even been any signs that he'd been possessed. Dean just straight-up killed a guy, no clear motive. It's a miracle there haven't been any others, if Sam's honest.

He approaches Cas with a frown. "Anything?" Cas asks, ever hopeful. He's holding it together much better than Sam, even though his Grace is obviously dwindling to nothing quickly. He sleeps now, four hours at a time. Sam caught him napping in the car more than once. Sam doesn't think it will be long before he has to start eating, too. It makes Sam nervous. He doesn't think it will go well if he uses the last of it up. Cas won't answer when he asks questions about it, so he's stopped, but he still worries.

"Nope. The guy's lucky Dean didn't kill him. The medical report made it sound like his spine was really close to snapping."

Cas frowns over at the man, nursing his beer and looking sour. "Perhaps we should do something for him."

Sam thinks he knows what Cas is thinking and steers him out of the bar before he can follow through. "Nope, not gonna happen. I hate to say it, but that guy got what he deserved. He shouldn't have followed Dean out of that bar. Let's go talk to the convenience store kid."

Cas looks like he wants to protest, but he lets Sam lead him down the street. "Do you think this witness will have more information than the last?"

"We better hope so. If anything, maybe they've got surveillance we can look at." They walk into the store together and approach the counter with badges out.

The attendant scowls at them. "Really? More of you guys? Where were all of you when we got robbed two months ago? This guy just took a couple porn mags and a case of beer. The robbers took the cash register," he complains.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, we can't help you with the incident last month. The suspect from the other night is a wanted fugitive. We've been following him for a few months now across several states. We're hoping you can help us track him down finally. Did he mention where he and his companion were heading?"

"Nope, didn't even know he had another guy with him. He came in, looked around a little, then the other dude came in and smashed his head through the door over there." The attendant points to the cardboard-covered refrigerator door. "Then, the first dude throws the second one against the shelves, smashed up a bunch of shit, and jumped on him. He went crazy, dude. I've never seen anyone go at someone like that. I thought he was gonna kill the guy."

"Did he say anything at all?"

"Where's the porn?" the attendant says with an expression that says he is 100% done with the entire situation.

Sam shakes his head with a little smile. Definitely Dean. "Great, well, I see that you have a camera behind the register. Any chance you have the footage from the other night?"

"Cops took it, dude. Didn't you talk to them already?"

"They didn't mention it. I'll have to ask them. Thank you for your help."

"Thank you," Cas says before following Sam back out of the building. "Are we going to the police station now?"

"It looks like we're gonna have to."

They go to the police station and get a stubborn rookie, who refuses to do anything until his boss comes back, even after seeing the badges. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have authorization to let anyone see evidence without permission from Lieutenant Harding. If you want to talk to him after lunch, I'd be happy to give him your information."

Sam sets his jaw and narrows a no-arguments look on the kid. "The man we're after has assaulted twenty-three people across a dozen state lines and killed a man in Ohio. Eighteen of those assaulted have had to visit the hospital for severe injuries. Every minute you keep us from confirming that he was here using those surveillance tapes is another minute that we don't catch him, and another chance for him to assault or kill again. If you want someone's death on your hands, then so-be-it, but when your lieutenant gets back, I can guarantee he's not going to like hearing that you've held up our investigation long enough for the suspect to get away."

The kid looks like he might be close to breaking. "He killed someone?"

"Yes. And put three others in intensive care. He put one of your own citizens in a neck brace, and I believe he will also need to have reconstructive surgery on his nose."

The rookie dithers for another minute, but finally caves. "I guess it'll be alright. You're credentials look legitimate. I can't sign the tapes away to you, though. You'll have to watch them here."

"That will be fine."

"Okay, follow me." The kid waves them around the desk, and they go back to a back room with a roll-away television cart set up. The officer leaves them there and goes to get the tapes.

"That was rather difficult," Cas says, taking a seat.

Sam nods, scowling. "I hate working with newbie cops."

"What are we hoping to see on this video, Sam?"

"I don't know, Cas. Something, hopefully."

The rookie comes back in before Cas can ask another question and pops the tape into the VCR player. "Here you go. Leave it in here when you're done, please. I have to get back to the desk."

"We will. Thanks for your help," Sam says.

The kid nods, not looking at them as he walks out. Sam turns the TV on and pushes play on the VCR. They have to fast-forward a bit, but when they find Dean, there's no mistaking it. They watch as the frat guy comes up behind Dean and slams his head into the refrigerator. Words are exchanged, and then Dean is throwing the guy into a shelving unit. Sam's never seen Dean that strong before. It's scary to say the least. Dean doesn't even pause before straddling the guy and beating the hell out of him. When he looks up, he doesn't even look mad. He talks to the attendant—unseen on the video—for a second and goes to the magazine rack to look at the skin mags for a few minutes. Sam can't believe how Dean it is. If he hadn't just watched his brother beat a guy nearly to death, he would have thought he was looking at the old Dean again. But a few seconds later, Dean takes a case of beer out of the fridge and leaves with the skin mags, and as he exits, his eyes flash to black. It sends a chill down Sam's spine.

They sit in silence for a full minute after the recording ends.

"We have to find him, Sam. He cannot remain like this," Cas says, turning to Sam.

Sam nods. "Yeah, we do, Cas. Let's go."

/

"What the fuck is Dean Winchester doing here?" a woman snarls from the door to the backroom of a backwoods bar they're set up in, trying to pull humans. They've got two on the hook, but Dean thinks this loud-mouthed bitch might fuck it up for them. Dean looks up from his cards to find a pretty brunette demon looking at him with disgust. He takes a minute to admire her sharp hip bones peeking above her tight jeans before winking at her, intending to play her anger off with a little teasing.

"Hello to you, too," he says, smirking around the cigar stuck out of the side of his mouth.

"Didn't you get the memo I sent out?" Crowley asks, discarding two cards and picking up the two dealt him. He doesn't even glance up at the she-demon. The humans look nervously between them.

"What memo? This is ridiculous. How do you know he isn't planning on killing us all?"

Dean pats the empty chair next to him. "Come over here and find out," he offers with a sinister smile. The she-demon rolls her eyes at him and goes over. "Good girl. You missed my coming-out party. I'm Team-Hell now." He flashes her a grin with a little black-eye action to prove himself.

"You're a demon? I don't remember seeing you on the rack any time in the last few years. I would have made sure to play." she says with skepticism.

"Nope. I'm a whole different cocktail of awesome."

The woman looks to Alan and Ryan, the two humans who are currently looking wary of the conversation. They had already been informed that they were playing with demons, but still. She could use some tact. She next looks to Marcus, their conspirator, and finally to Crowley. He throws her a bone. "He's a Knight of Hell."

The woman blinks, then looks warily back at Dean. "Like that bitch, Abaddon?"

"Better. She was just an upgraded demon. I got this." He taps the Mark, exposed by his rolled-up sleeve, before discarding a four of Hearts and picking up an Ace of Spades. He keeps his smile to himself as he tucks it next to his other two aces.

Their little game is interrupted by another demon, this one a little man dressed in a suit vest and tie. His Indian accent is almost too thick for Dean to make out. Dean's starting to get used to it, though, after a few weeks of interacting with the guy. "Mr. Crowley, sir, there is a problem," Rasul says.

Crowley turns, setting his cards upside-down on the table and pulling the cigar out of his mouth. "Yes?"

"Elroy is making bad deals with humans. Several of our spies have reported that he is promising much larger payloads than he is delivering, and that he is finding ways to shorten the payout time."

Crowley sets his cards down calmly and stands up, smiling at the two humans. "Excuse me, gentleman. It appears I have a situation. Marcus and Serena will take care of you. Dean?"

Dean puts his cards down and leaves with Crowley, cracking his knuckles as they exit. He doesn't like following Crowley's orders, but he really, really likes beating the shit out of rule-breakers. Out back, there's a crowd of demons standing around a man who looks nervous, but determined.

As soon as he spots Crowley, he starts talking. "Mr. Crowley, sir, they're setting me up. I would never make a bad deal in your name. I know how strict you are about maintaining our reputation, sir. It's not my fault that a few of my humans died early deaths. They were all accidents."

Crowley is scanning some paperwork Rasul gave him as he walks closer. "Accidents, hmm? All twenty-three of them? That is quite a lot of accidents, wouldn't you say?"

"It is, sir, but I have nothing to do with any of them."

Crowley looks up from the paper to meet eyes with Dean. "I don't believe you," he says, and it's as good as an all-clear.

Dean charges the guy and flings him on top of a truck hood. The guy groans and tries to push Dean off, but Dean ignores his hands and goes to town on his face. The guy's protests fade out as his facial features begin to meld together into one giant soup of blood and brains. When the guy is slumped to the ground, barely breathing, Dean pulls out his Blade and stabs the guy with it, using it as a hook to lift the body up as his demon essence fizzles and dies.

"Let this be a reminder to anyone who is thinking about crossing me. When we catch you—and we will—this is your fate," Crowley calls out, making eye contact with each demon in the crowd. Dean sees a few nervous looks, but the majority of them look as stone-faced as Dean. Good. Dean drops the body and uses a rag to clean off his Blade.

/

They're getting nowhere fast, and they both know it. Their trail is thinner and thinner with each passing day. Sam won't say it, but Castiel can see the strain on him. It makes him frustrated.

Sam is out at the moment, running errands he refused to explain to Castiel. Cas thinks maybe he doesn't want to know. He has been sitting quietly for an hour, waiting, but he is beginning to feel fidgety and unsettled. In the past, he has only felt this way when human, or nearly human, and he think perhaps he should be more worried about the situation of his Grace than he is permitting himself to be.

He pulls out his phone, twisting it between his fingers, more for something to do than because he wants to make a call. On a whim, he swipes the screen and brings up his directory. There are only seven numbers in it, and two of them are dead. He lingers, thinking. There isn't any reason he can't try, is there? It's a tactic they haven't tried in more than a month. Maybe…

He pushes the number and a call pops up. He lifts the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing, hoping.

"Hey Cas," comes Dean's rich, deep voice. It settles the rustling in Castiel's being. If Dean can still say his name that way, then things cannot be completely lost.

"Hello, Dean. How are you?"

"I'm great, Cas. How are you?"

"I am well. I've missed you."

"Yeah? Isn't that sweet." Castiel can ignore the slightly mocking tone.

"Yes, I was told that you were dead, and then I return to Earth to find that you are gone. Where have you been?"

"You know where I've been, Cas. You and Sammy been playing chase since the day I left."

"We have been looking for you, yes. Is there a reason you are trying to stay away from us?"

"Nope, just tired of dealing with that little bitch of a brother of mine."

Castiel frowns. "I was not aware that you felt that way about Sam, Dean. You have always expressed a deep love for him."

"Yeah, and where did that get me? Look, if we're gonna talk about feelings shit, I'm gonna hang up."

"Please don't. I've missed hearing your voice. We can talk about something else. Are you… traveling with Crowley?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just curious. I haven't seen you in several months. I wish to catch up. What have you been doing with Crowley?"

"A little of this, a little of that. Whatever I want to. I gotta say, I wish I'd done this years ago." He doesn't sound as enthusiastic about things as Castiel would have expected, especially if he truly is enjoying himself. If Castiel has learned one thing about his friend, it is that he is incapable of holding back his enthusiasm when he is enjoying something.

"I'm glad that you're happy. I would like to see you, though. I was very worried about you. It would be nice to see your face again."

"Nice try, Cas, but you and Sammy are gonna cook up a scheme if I agree to come see you. I might not be human any more, but I ain't stupid."

"That was not my intention, Dean. I would not wish to detain you against your will."

"Yeah, okay." The call is abruptly ended, and Castiel is left staring at the blank screen of his phone for several minutes. It is only when Sam returns from his 'errands' that Castiel is brought out of his thoughts.

"Something wrong with your phone?" Sam asks, dropping his bag onto his bed.

Castiel looks up from his daze and frowns at Sam. Should he tell him whom he had just been speaking with? How would Sam react to such news? In the end, he decides that there is little use in lying. "I just spoke with Dean."

Sam drops his phone. It hits the carpet with a dull thud. "What?"

"I called him on a whim. I didn't think he would pick up, but he did."

Sam hurries to sit on the corner of the bed across from Castiel, leaning forward with eagerness. "And? What'd he say?"

"Not a great deal. He won't agree to meet. He thinks we are going to lay a trap for him."

"He's right, we are."

Castiel holds his frustration back, but cannot keep it from his expression. "Attitude like that is what is keeping him away."

"We have to fix him, Cas. It sounds like he's not interested. How else are we going to do that?"

"I don't know, Sam. I agree that he must be returned to humanity, but I would also like to see him to make sure that he is alright."

"Of course he isn't alright. He's a demon, Cas. He won't be alright again until he's human."

Castiel holds his hands up in surrender and stands. "Fine, let's barrel at this with the single-minded determination of a bloodhound. It's been working well so far."

"What do you want to do, Cas, stop? What choice do we have in this?"

Castiel understands what Sam is saying and nods his capitulation. "I understand the situation. I'm frustrated that there isn't more we can do."

"Me, too, Cas, but this is what we're stick with. We can find him. And hey, now we know he has his cell with him, still. Maybe we can hack it, track it by GPS."

"Maybe. I'm going for a walk." He needs to move. The twitch in his muscles has only gotten worse with his irritation. He hopes that a little exercise will ease it enough for him to fall asleep. He can already feel himself getting tired again. Sam doesn't protest his leaving. He is already pulling out his laptop and getting to work, no doubt looking for a way to track Dean's phone. Castiel leaves him to the work and wanders outside.

The night is pleasant, and Castiel makes his way towards a park several blocks away, intending to walk the paths. As he is waiting for a walk sign at the first corner, his phone buzzes with a new message. He checks and finds a picture message from Dean. It's a picture of the corner of Dean's head with a church in the background—Castiel recognizes the church as one of the dozen or so churches he smited when he was playing at being God, though he cannot remember what city it was in. That time of his existence is blurry at best, befuddled with Leviathan. Underneath the picture is a message: **your old stomping ground?** Dean's hair is longer and styled much differently than he usually keeps it, but otherwise he looks unchanged. Castiel can imagine what his true face looks like now, the seething abomination of his twisted soul. What used to be a shining beacon of righteousness and good is probably now a black and disgusting thing. It makes him sad to think about. He sends a reply back.

Castiel:** I did not think you would remember that time.**

Dean:** how could i forget? only time you let your hair down**

Castiel:** I nearly brought about the destruction of the human race.**

Dean:** i know it was awesome**

Castiel: **At the time, you told me I'd gone off the rails.**

Dean: **different time**

Castiel:** Indeed.**

When Castiel returns to the motel, he shows the picture to Sam. It only takes Sam a few minutes to locate the church. They are packed up and heading to Santa Fe within the hour.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Dean feels as he begins to wake up is a kick to his foot hanging off the bed. He tries to open his eyes, finds that that is a monumental mistake, and closes them again with a pained sigh. "What?" he growls.

"Sorry to wake his majesty, but we have business to attend to," Crowley's voice interrupts his attempts to get back to sleep.

Dean buries his face back in his pillow and sends a finger over his head. There's movement next to him, and for a second he thinks Crowley was weird enough to crawl in bed with him, but then he remembers that he didn't go home from the bars alone last night and turns his head on the pillow. There's a hot blonde next to him—Christine, the hot waitress, he remembers—half-asleep and rubbing stale make-up from her face. "Why is Crowley here?" she asks in a raspy, sleepy voice.

"No idea," Dean mutters back, pulling her close and burying his face in her neck. She smells like sex and whiskey, his favorite.

"Jerk," Crowley says, kicking his foot again.

"Bitch," Dean shoots back automatically. It takes him a minute to realize what he's said and sit up. The room is way, way too bright. He shields his eyes with his hand and glowers at Crowley. "What? Kinda lounging here," he says.

"I can see that. Unfortunately, it is going to have to wait. I have just had a report that several dozen of my top demons have been taken out in the last three months. Would you like to guess who is doing the taking?"

Dean heaves a sigh and gets out of bed, pulling his shirt on reluctantly. He'd been planning to sleep for another hour, then maybe fuck Christine again before taking his leave. Looks like that's out now. "I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

"Let me give you a hint. He's related to you, and he's a pain in my arse!" Crowley reaches up to smack him on the back of the head. The blow might have been hard, but Dean grabs onto Crowley's hand and snaps it behind his back before it can land, pinning him against Dean's chest.

"Remind when exactly I gave you permission to touch me."

Crowley speaks through clenched teeth. "Your bumbling idiot of a brother is systematically slaughtering my demons. Excuse me for being a bit irritated."

Dean lets him go. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"First, I'd like you to put on some pants, you heathen. Then, I want you to find him and convince him to stop the hunt. He's looking for you."

Dean gives him an annoyed look and pulls on his boxers, refusing to bother with real pants until he has an actual reason to leave his motel room. "Yeah? Good for him. Let him look. I don't care if he kills all your demons. Can I go back to bed now, or do we need to talk about your feelings some more?" Dean indicates the woman on the bed, just sitting up with a hand holding up the sheet over her naked breasts, peering at them in irritation and mild confusion.

"You realize you both sound like a bunch of religious nuts, right?"

Crowley ignores her, but Dean shoots her a smirk. His attention snaps back to Crowley with a pair of fingers snapping in his face. "Hell-lo? He's trying to 'cure' you, you idiot. I've found that any time one of you gets an annoyingly heroic idea in your head, you tend to follow through. Do you want to return to your previous existence as a pathetic, self-loathing loser? Because I was under the impression that you rather enjoyed life as it is."

This gives Dean pause. "Do you really think that little ritual Sam used on you is going to work on me? No offense, but I got a little more going on than just demon."

"You're a demon?" Christine asks. She reaches for her shirt and pulls it on before sliding out of bed, her underwear only just still on. She pulls on the rest of her clothes as they watch, neither able to look away from her pert, round ass sliding into tight jeans.

Dean recovers his senses and shoots her an annoyed look. "Not your conversation, sweetheart. Why don't you head on your merry way?"

She shoots him a dirty look of her own. "You're such an ass. You're lucky you're good in bed. Good luck with your crazy demon bullshit. Don't call me."

"No worries, wasn't planning on it." He tosses her purse at her and watches her leave, slamming the door behind her.

"That was smooth," Crowley says.

"What? You're the one coming in here talking about murder and demons. Don't blame me."

"Right. Have I ever told you that you're a complete moron?"

"Get on with it, Crowley. Why should I care about Sam? His little demon trick isn't gonna work on me, and we both know it."

"We're talking about your brother, Dean. Sam Winchester. Do you think he will stop until he finds a cure that will work?"

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and slams his palm against the nearest wall, denting it just enough to leave a hand-print-sized dip. "God dammit. Fine, I'll deal with him." He pulls on a pair of jeans and a shirt, the fabric almost tearing in his frustration. He pauses in pulling on his boots to level his blade at Crowley. "You better have a drink ready when I get back."

Crowley gives him a mocking bow. "Of course."

Dean zaps out and into his old room at the bunker. He can hear the shower running next door and grins to himself. If Sammy's in the shower, at least he knows he won't be walking into a trap.

/

Castiel steps out of the shower to find that he is not alone in the bathroom. Dean is leaning against the door jam, watching him with a smirk. Castiel's heart clenches, and he has to hold onto the counter to steady himself. He had wanted to believe that Cain had been lying, that Dean was really dead and not an embodiment of evil, that the creature they'd been seeing on surveillance footage and wanted ads was a shape-shifter or a doppleganger or something else that could take Dean's shape. He had even wanted to believe that the creature texting him was not really his friend, but Castiel can see the twisted, snarled soul beneath his skin, and it turns his stomach. Dean doesn't seem to notice or care. He stalks closer, crowding Castiel back into the wall and leaning over him with a hand braced next to Castiel's head.

"Hiya, Cas," he rasps in a rich, seductive voice that fills Castiel with both warmth and horror.

"Dean."

Dean's eyes travel down his naked body, still dripping from the shower. He hasn't even had time to get a towel. Dean lifts his free hand to Cas' shoulder and wipes away a bit of moisture on his finger and brings the finger to his lips, licking it off while locking eyes with Cas. "Need a shower? Grace must really be low. Shouldn't you be looking for a power-up about now?"

"I've been looking for you, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. We talked about that. Big mistake."

"I don't think so. Sam and I are worried about you. This isn't good, Dean. You're supposed to be dead."

Dean flashes him a black-eyed smirk that shocks him, though it really shouldn't. "So are you." His eyes turn to their usual—human—green and the smirk fades. "I know what you and Sammy are trying to do, Cas. I'm not interested in going back to being human."

"That's the Mark talking. I can save you. I've done it before."

"What's the plan, then? You gonna inject me with Sammy's blood and say a bunch of meaningless prayers and hope they take? You're practically human. Wanna try it now?" Castiel squints up at him, confused. They have no syringe, and Dean has been acting as though he does not want to return to humanity.

Dean lifts the tip of his blade to pull Cas' lip down just enough to bend over and lick into his mouth. The edge of it stings as it slices, the pain made worse by Dean's teeth tugging the cut open further. The blood is bitter on his tongue, but Dean's kiss is enough to distract him. He takes hold of the folds of Dean's jacket to keep himself steady. He feels Dean grin against his mouth as he takes it over, one hand sliding down Cas' bare back until he reaches his ass and squeezes it. Cas cries out in surprise and holds on tighter to Dean, moving his hands to Dean's neck, where the skin sparks against his fingertips. He feels tingly and unable to think straight under Dean's assault.

As abruptly as he approached, Dean pulls away, licking Cas' blood from his lips with a satisfied smile. "Wanna say a prayer or can we just quit this dance and pony show? I'm much more than a demon, Cas. A little bit of human blood isn't gonna cut it."

Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat, blinking up at Dean in flustered determination. "We'll find another way. There has to be one. You can't stay this way, Dean. If you were in your right mind, you would be able to see that."

Castiel feels the hot press of the Blade against his ribs and freezes in place. Dean's eyes are black again, and they look deep into Castiel's. "I'm only going to say this once, so listen closely. You are going to stop looking for a way to fix me, or I'm gonna take my favorite new toy and gut you with it. Capice?"

Castiel sighs, frowning up at his most beloved friend. "Dean Winchester, I will never stop trying to get you back."

The Blade presses closer, but doesn't quite break skin yet as Dean leans further over him. "Why ya gotta make this difficult, Cas? I don't want to have to kill you. I'd much rather fuck that tight little ass of yours."

"Dean, please. Stop this." Castiel's heart feels like it's breaking, hearing Dean says things he knows his human self would be horrified by.

"But why, Cas? I know you want me. You think I can't see right through you to that feathery little heart of yours?" He brushes his nose against Cas' throat, sniffing at him like a dog.

"Please let me go, Dean."

"You first," Dean says, all teasing gone. He pulls back far enough to look Castiel in the eyes, and Castiel's breath catches. For a second, Castiel can see his human face, and what he sees breaks his heart. Dean isn't screaming inside He isn't tortured by the thing he has become. He is content, pleased even. He is unburdened in a way Castiel has never seen him before. A cold dread unlike anything he's ever felt before settles in Castiel's stomach, and he nods, unable to muster any further protest. If this is what Dean wants, he will let it happen.

Dean nods back, the demon twisting back into his face, and pulls away. Castiel grabs onto the arm of his jacket, stopping him before he can leave. "I won't try to change you if that is what you want, but that does not mean that I do not care. Please be careful."

Dean's head twists to the side, eyes flashing a sinister consideration. "That was almost a declaration of love there, Cas. Do you heart me? Wanna roll around on the floor for a while, get you all dirty again?"

Castiel sighs, clenching his hand into a fist. He has nothing to say that will not further goad Dean. Dean grins and pulls him in by his neck, kissing him hard and fast before letting him go. "Maybe next time. Gotta go find Sammy. I'll see you around." Castiel is left pressed against the wall, naked and heartbroken and unable to cope with the knowledge that the one person he cares about more than anything in his long, seemingly endless existence is gone, probably forever. His knees give out and he slides down the wall to a crumpled mess on the tile.

/

Sam is sitting at a table in the library, reading through a pile of books and getting exactly nowhere. He's only seen mentions of Knights of Hell, and none of them offer any clues as to whether or not the condition is reversible. He sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration. Sam's gone through thirty demons and over a hundred books, but he's no closer to finding and fixing Dean than he was three months ago. He hears footsteps announcing Castiel's return from the shower—and that's another worrying thought. The last time Sam checked, angels didn't need to take showers.—but he doesn't look up from the book. He stopped trying to make eye contact with Cas after he came back from torturing the first demon after they got back from Memphis. "Still nothing," he says.

"Whatcha lookin' for? Heard it was me." Sam's head whips up so fast his neck hurts and he almost falls out of his chair. Dean is standing in the doorway from the sleeping quarters, smirking at Sam. He doesn't really look any different except that his hair is longer and styled like he's auditioning for the Jersey Shore, but Sam can feel it underneath his skin. He isn't Dean, not entirely.

"Dean," he manages, fumbling out of his chair. "We've been looking all over for you."

"Yeah, I heard. Gotta tell ya, Sammy, I'm not impressed. Thirty-two demons, and you still have no idea how to find me. You're losing your touch there, little brother. All you had to do was call."

Sam keeps his composure, but it's a close thing. "Would you have answered if I had? You told Cas you didn't want to deal with me anymore."

"Probably not. I've been kinda busy lately, stretching my new legs and all."

"Yeah, I heard."

"I've heard you've been pretty busy yourself there, Sammy. Trying to find me, trying to 'cure' me." Dean steps into the room, picks up a book Sam already discarded as useless from a shelf near the door and examining the title/ "Did you ever stop to think maybe I like being the way I am? I'm faster, stronger, smarter. I've got way more power now. And I'm having a hell of a lot more fun this way than I ever did as a human." He sets the book back down, giving Sam a smirk.

Sam clenches his fists at his sides. "You're a demon, Dean. You can't stay that way."

"Oh, there's a lot more than just demon juice in me, Sammy. You should see some of the things I can do now." Dean flicks in and out of the room with a snap of his fingers as if to demonstrate. When he reappears, he's two steps closer to Sam.

Sam swallows down the panic the move sends through him, knowing that's what Dean wants. "You're a monster, Dean. You can't want to stay that way."

Dean tilts his head to the side, eyes flicking to black. It's a bigger shock for Sam than the magic trick, even though he's seen it on video cameras before. He can't tell himself it's a camera distortion when there's no camera. "Oh really? I'm the monster? I know what you've been doing trying to find me, Sam, how low you've sunk. Who's the real monster here?"

"You are. You're a demon, Dean. You're everything we've fought our entire lives to get rid of. What would Dad say if he saw you now? Bobby? Ellen and Jo?" Sam manages the next part around the lump in his throat. "Mom?"

Dean doesn't seem fazed by any of it. "I was made into this, Sammy. It's what I am. Guys like me? We're the natural order. All this power inside me? That's natural selection, doin' its thing. Now you? You chose to kill all those demons. You chose to skin them alive while their meatsuits screamed in agony. I didn't make you do that. God didn't make you do that. That was all you."

"I had to find you, Dean. You gave me no choice."

"No, actually, you didn't. You decided to do those things."

"What else was I supposed to do? If you were in your right mind, you would understand."

Dean takes a step another forward. The move is casual, but also menacing. Sam takes a step back, reaching for the knife he tucked in his back pocket, but it isn't there. He has a flash reminder of having set it on the table when he sat down. "I'm not in my right mind, huh? What makes you think that? I'm not the one going around torturing and killing people for no reason. I thought you were supposed to be a goodie-goodie. How ya gonna cure a demon when you got a soul as black as one?"

Sam presses his lips together until they hurt, not wanting to say anything. If he can inch towards the knife, maybe he can get ahold of it before Dean sees and use it. "Dean…"

"Dean…" Dean mock-whines, pouting at him as he takes another step. He straightens and drops the mocking face as he gets closer. "That was the plan, wasn't it? News flash, Sammy. I'm not possessed. Your little ritual ain't gonna work on me, even if you were pure as the driven snow."

Sam backs into the table, hitting the back of his thighs hard. "I had to try."

"Yeah well, now you're gonna stop, or I'm gonna have to stop you. You want that?"

Sam manages to get his fingers around the knife handle and uses it to slash at Dean, nearly catching him across the chest. Dean leans out of the way, grinning. "We're gonna play that game, are we?" He pulls the First Blade out of the back of his belt and spins it in his grip, smirking. Sam doesn't give him enough time to swing, pushing him out of the way and bolting for the hallway. He hears Dean's patient footsteps behind him. He has to find Cas. There's no way he'll be able to overpower Dean on his own, not without help. He hears Dean call out behind him: "Oh come on, Sammy. You really gonna run from me? Are you scared? It's just me, Sammy. What am I gonna do to ya?"

Sam ignores his taunting, hurrying towards the dormitory. The last time he saw Cas, he was on his way to get a shower. He jogs in that direction, gripping the knife hard enough to whiten his knuckles, ready to strike at the slightest sense of Dean behind him. He finds Cas curled up on the bathroom floor, staring at the cabinets across from him without moving. "Cas, get up. Dean's here. I need your help to contain him."

Cas looks up at him with hopeless sadness and shakes his head. "I can't. I'm sorry, Sam, but he asked me not to."

"What?! What are you talking about, Cas? Come on, we've been looking for him for months. We can fix this, but you gotta help me."

"I can't, Sam. I'm sorry. I saw his soul, and it was content. I can't go against his wishes."

Sam wants to yell some more, drag Cas off the bathroom floor and make him help, but he hears Dean down the hallway, banging his hands against the walls as he stalks closer. Sam can't risk being trapped in a bathroom. He has to keep moving. "Come on, Cas. He's coming," he says, not looking back to see if Cas is following him or not. He makes his way to the archive where he's hidden a Devil's Trap in glow-in-the-dark paint on the ceiling. He has to hope it will be enough to contain Dean. When he gets there, he hides behind a shelf in the far back where Dean will have to pass under the trap to get to him. He hears Dean's footsteps, heavy on the concrete floor. "Sammy… Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You think you can hide from me? I've been beating your ass in hide-and-seek since before you could spell your name."

Sam peers over the shelf, nervous. Dean is still talking, still taunting him. He ignores the taunts, reminding himself that this isn't Dean, not really. This is the twisted thing that has control of Dean's soul. It needs to be eradicated, which means that he needs to stay calm and think. Cas isn't going to help him apparently. He's on his own on this one. He'll have to hope that he can be enough to fix this. He looks over the shelf again just in time to avoid a swipe of Dean's blade at his neck. Dean grins an evil grin and goes for him again, but is—thankfully—restrained by the bounds of the Devil's Trap. Dean looks up at the ceiling, cursing under his breath. "Really, Sam? Devil's Traps? This is what we've come to?"

Sam stands, shrugging with a smirk. "If it looks like a demon and walks like a demon, why not trap it like a demon?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "What are you gonna do next, throw holy water on me?"

"Maybe. What'd you do to Cas?"

"What about Cas?"

"This morning he was all for finding you and fixing you, but I just found him curled up on the bathroom floor saying he promised you he'd leave you alone. What'd you do?"

Dean twists his head to the right, narrowing his eyes at Sam. "Why? Jealous of our bond, Sammy? You wanna get in the littlest angel's pants, too? Sorry. I don't think you're his type."

Sam stares at him, unable to come up with a suitable reply. That was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he makes his way carefully around the devil's trap, making sure to stay out of range of Dean's hands.

Dean follows him with his eyes. "What's the plan, Sammy? You got me caged up. What are you gonna do to me, now that you got me? That ritual you used on Crowley ain't gonna work on me. You got anything else?"

Sam remains silent, making it around the outside edge of the trap and going for the door. He's fairly certain Dean can't get out of the trap without help, and even if he can, Sam carved demon-warding symbols into the door handles of the room. Dean shouldn't be able to get out. "Oh, we're gonna play the silent game, are we? Okay, fine. I can wait. I got all the time in the world now."

Sam ignores him, stepping out and closing the doors. He needs time to think, and that will be impossible with Dean talking non-stop. He needs to figure out what's going on with Cas. This isn't something he can do by himself. He finds Cas still in the bathroom, now with a towel draped over his knees. He doesn't look like he's been crying, but Sam can't be sure. "I've got Dean contained for now. Tell me what's going on. Did he say something to you? Are you hurt?"

Cas looks up at him, heartbreak still written all over his face. "I saw a glimpse of his human face. He is content the way he is. I promised him that I would no longer interfere."

It's a blow to Sam's conviction, but not enough to stop him. "Well, Dean's crazy. He's not staying a demon. Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Not."

"Fine, great, thanks, Cas. If you're so sure he wants to stay this way, then you know what we have to do."

Cas looks alarmed. "No, Sam. Cain told us not to find him again. He will likely kill us if we disobey his command."

"Well, then what do you suggest? Because if we aren't going to turn him, then we have to take him out. He's too dangerous. He obviously has no moral compass. He tried to slit my throat, Cas."

"He pulled the Blade on me, as well. That does not mean we kill him. He was defending himself."

"Cas, I'm not going in circles over this with you. He's a demon. We can't cure him. We can't save him. We have to take care of him, just like we would any other demon."

Cas opens his mouth to speak, but a loud clang of metal interrupts him. Sam pokes his head out of the bathroom just as the clang rings out again. He thinks it might be Dean, trying to muscle his way out of the archive. Shit, how'd he get out of the Devil's Trap? Sam thinks, panicked. The clatter rings a third time through the building.

Castiel stands up and starts dressing in the clothes he'd left out on the counter, ignoring Sam's bulged-out eyes. Even in a crisis, he had never wanted to see Cas' junk. Ever. "Dean is not going to be happy that you trapped him. You should run. I'll try to distract him."

"Aren't you worried he'll attack you, too?"

Cas stops in the middle of pulling the t-shirt over his head to frown. "No. We have already settled things between us, and I had no part in his entrapment."

Sam tugs at his hair, unable to believe the situation he's in. This is insane. The sound of the doors to the archive being slammed open puts him back on alert, and he darts out of the bathroom, leaving Cas to fend for himself. He doesn't see Dean in the hallway, which either means he's already passed and is laying in wait, or that he's right behind him. Sam decides to go quickly towards the library, with the idea that he can escape out the front door if he really needs to. He slams his bedroom door, letting the lock click into place, hoping it will trip Dean up a bit, and moves away as silently as he can. He passes a panic switch on his way, and pulls it, knowing that it will set off a mess of demon traps. Dean knows where as many of them are as Sam does, probably more, but Sam's hoping he'll miss one. He hears the sound of an ax splintering wood and thinks the bedroom door trick must have worked. It will buy him enough time to figure out a plan C, at least. He hurries down the nearest hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible. It isn't easy with the boots he's wearing.

Distantly, he hears Dean shout, "Come on, Sammy. Let's have a beer and talk about this. I'm tired of playing. Let's finish this game."

Sam tries to drown out his voice with thoughts of what he has to do, but it's difficult. He darts around a corner and stops to listen, but there's no sound besides the pounding of his own heart. He takes a deep breath to center himself, blocking out the knowledge that he's being hunted by his own brother. He hopes that Dean hasn't already found Cas and done something to him. Sam isn't confident that Cas has enough Grace left to sustain a serious blow. Sam turns to look behind him and dodges a swing of an ax, managing to miss the sharp trajectory of the blade by a few milliseconds.

He swings around and pushes the knife against Dean's throat, snarling at him. Dean grins back, eyes flickering to black. "Do it," Dean taunts, leaning into the blade. He returns his eyes to their normal green, but not in enough time to prevent Sam from panicking.

Sam clenches his teeth, both sad and incredibly angry that things have come to this. He applies pressure and slides the knife clear through Dean's Adam's apple. The blood trickles down Dean's skin to stain his shirt a deep red color, but Dean doesn't fall over. He only grins wider and wipes the blood away. The wound begins to heal before Sam's eyes, causing him to gasp in shock. He's never seen a demon's wounds heal like that, especially not with Ruby's knife. "How many times I gotta tell you, Sammy? That pig-sticker didn't work on Cain, didn't work on Abaddon. It ain't gonna work on me, either. Now, are you gonna come to your senses, or am I gonna have to kill you?"

"I don't believe you want this, Dean. This is insane."

"That wasn't an answer, Sammy. Time's a wastin'. Tick, tock."

Sam can feel something hard and sharp press against his ribs and tries not to panic. He can get away still. He just needs to think. "Cas said he's going to leave you alone."

"He is. I made it very clear to him that if he doesn't, he won't be alive much longer. I gotta make the same speech to you?"

"No, I get it. Fine, you want to stay this way, I'll stop. But the next time I see you, I'm gonna know how to kill you."

Dean grins, dropping the ax to pat Sam on the cheek. "Good luck with that, Sammy. I'll see you around." Sam stays immobile watching Dean walk away until well after Dean is gone. He can feel a layer of ice creeping over his heart, freezing it and fortifying it against Dean. He meant what he said. The next time he sees Dean, he will have a way to kill him.

/

Dean isn't expecting to be met by an underling when he goes looking for Crowley again, but an underling is what he gets. The guy is a tiny nervous thing standing at the kitchenette of Dean's last motel room with a clipboard in his hand. He isn't a demon Dean's met before, but that doesn't mean anything. He tenses as Dean approaches him, giving Dean a forced smile. "Good evening, sir. Mr. Crowley has requested that I escort you to his office, if you don't mind."

Dean looks the guy over, skeptical. "Couldn't meet me himself?"

"There was a situation he had to take care of, sir."

"So where's this office, then?" He can only imagine it's some penthouse suite of a corporate headquarters in New York or something.

"In Hell, sir," the guy answers.

Dean kneads his lips between his teeth, nodding. Or course it is. "Alright, how do we get there?"

The underling hesitates, looking confused. "Have you not been several times already, sir?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Just the once, and it wasn't intentional. How do we get there from here?"

"Excuse any discomfort, sir, but if you will allow me to touch you, I will escort you." He holds out his hand, and Dean lets him take hold of Dean's arm. One second they are in the crappy motel room, littered in Dean's stuff, the next they're in the lobby of a high-end hotel. Or at least, that's what it looks like.

Dean pulls away from the guy's grip and steps away from him to look around. "So, where's Crowley?"

"This way, sir." The underling leads him to a huge, ornate set of wooden doors and knocks gently. "Mr. Crowley, sir, Mr. Winchester is here to see you."

"Let him in, then, you idiot," comes Crowley's voice through the door. Dean is surprised sound can travel through it considering it's thickness. Dean is momentarily distracted by the detailed carving of an orgy on the section nearest the door handle. The guy moves out of the way, actually bowing to Dean as he opens the door for him. Dean raises an eyebrow and walks into the most pretentious fucking office he has ever seen.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Crowley?" he asks, unable to help himself. The desk is made of gold for fuck's sake.

"What?" Crowley asks with a baffled look, holding his hands up. He looks like a dwarf behind the massive desk. Dean imagines his feet don't even touch the floor.

"Little much, don't ya think?" Dean asks, walking up to the desk and picking up an hourglass with diamonds inside instead of sand. He flips it over and gives Crowley a look.

"I like the finer things in life. Sue me." He shrugs. "Sit down and tell me what happened with Moose and Featherbrains."

Dean takes a seat in a black leather chair that's low to the ground, but still comfortable. "Sammy wants to kill me, but I think I convinced him to stop looking for me. Cas…" Dean licks his lips, grinning. "Cas was fun."

"Did you kill them?"

"Nope, just talked to them."

Crowley levels a look of his own. "You really think they aren't going to keep trying to… fix you? You're brother is like a dog after a bone when he wants to be."

"Yeah, but now he's just gonna try to kill me, which we both know he can't do without this." Dean holds up the Blade with his right hand, flashing the Mark for emphasis.

Crowley takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Fine, but if one more demon dies at Moose's hands, I'm sending a team to take him out."

"Go for it. You want anything else, or are we good?"

"We are… good. Now that you're here, would you like a tour?"

"What, of Hell? I've been."

"Oh, but that was a different time, different king. I've redecorated."

Dean twists the Blade in his hand, studying it. "Why should I care?"

"I just thought you might like to explore down here a bit, see what Hell has to offer. You've spent so long trying to close us off. Why not get a look at our benefits?"

Dean looks up at him sharply. "What you have to offer? Like what? I'm already on your side."

Crowley hesitates. "I just thought you might like to take in the air, so to speak."

Dean stares at him, unsure what to think of the offer. He's already working with Crowley top-side. Why would he need him to see the downstairs? He figures Crowley's not gonna try to trap him down here—what would be the point? Dean's not interested in his throne. He just wants to enjoy his new-found freedom and kick a little ass. "Sure, fine, why not? That weird little dude isn't gonna follow us around, is he? He keeps calling me sir. It's fuckin' weird."

"Andrew is an obedient servant." Crowley stands and walks around the desk. Dean gets up to follow him, but they pause at the door. "He is also a wonderful bottom, if you're interested."

Dean gives him a look. "I'm good, thanks. Simpering assholes aren't my thing."

Crowley shrugs and steps through the door, nodding to Andrew as they pass. Andrew is holding up a tray with two champaign glasses on it. Crowley takes one and indicates that Dean should take the other. "The drink I promised you. Now, would you like to visit the torture rooms first or the sex dungeons?"

Dean takes a sip of the champagne and smacks his lips, smirking at the annoyed look Crowley shoots him. "Sex dungeons," he answers with a self-satisfied smirk. Crowley rolls his eyes and leads him out of the office without further debate.

/

"I thought you'd enjoy the sex dungeon," Crowley says as they walk down a long hallway, on one side of which is an endless line of people, waiting. The other has a string of weird portraits of Crowley in various poses. They all make him look kind of douchey, but Dean's not going to mention that.

"Don't get me wrong, the concept is great. There couldn't be a more fitting punishment for rapists and pedos than getting rapped themselves. Excellent job on that. I'm just more into having sex with people who want to have sex with me, you know?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "I should have known. Even as a demon, you have morals. Alright, sex is out. What about torture? I have a whole suite of torture dungeons. Latest tools at your disposal and the very worst scum of the Earth to practice on?"

Dean shrugs. "Maybe later. What's going on here?" He points to the endless line of people, all looking bored to death.

"Ah, yes, I believe this is my greatest achievement. These sad sacks are waiting for nothing. Once they get to the front of the line, they are told that there's been a mistake, and have to go right back to the end again. It's neat, efficient, and provides the maximum amount of mental pain and suffering. A thousand years of this, and they'll do whatever I ask to get out."

"Wow, Crowley. That is… evil." Dean's impressed with the idea. Dean hates standing in line for more than a minute. A couple of centuries would drive him completely crazy.

"Thank you. Now, onto business. I was thinking, now that you're down here, maybe you would be interested in doing a little training."

"I've done enough training in my life, Crowley."

"No, no, I didn't mean that you would be the one in training. I meant would you like to pick a few of my elite demons to train into Knights." He gives this a minute to soak in before continuing. "You could create a battalion of them, and then together we could change the face of the planet."

"I don't know how to make Knights, Crowley. I can't exactly give them the Mark."

"You wouldn't have to. That isn't how Cain's Knights became what they were, either. There's a ritual, not very difficult to do. I had Andrew track down a copy of it."

Dean considers him. This sounds like work, but he probably wouldn't mind having a few minions of his own. "I can pick whoever I want?"

"Absolutely. I will put every demon under my control at your disposal."

Dean narrows his eyes, not liking the way he phrased that. "And once I make them, they'd be under your control, right?"

Crowley looks shifty. "They would be under your control. You, as the commander of my army, would use them to further aid our cause."

So yes, basically, Dean thinks but doesn't say. There's no reason he can't agree to this idea, and then reneg on it later. "Alright, why not? I was getting bored with the bar scene anyway. Where do we start?"

Crowley gestures towards the other end of the hallway with one of his senator's smiles. "This way."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam hasn't been successful in finding a way to kill a Knight of Hell, but it hasn't kept him from trying. They've gone on a few regular hunts, and Cas has even gone back to Heaven a few times in the last couple of months. Sam would like to be looking for Dean, but there haven't been any signs of him in two months, and his GPS doesn't even work anymore. He knows Cas still gets regular texts from him, but Sam thinks he might be in Hell with Crowley. Since he's not suicidal enough to try and break into Hell again without a plan or a viable weapon, research it is.

He's elbow-deep in lore books he raided one of Bobby's safe houses for when his phone goes off. The last person Sam would have expected to see on his caller id was Ms. Tran. He picks up immediately. "Hey, Ms. Tran, are you okay?"

"No, Sam, I'm not 'okay'. Kevin's gone."

"Uh, what do you mean, gone?" Sam asks, confused. He didn't think Kevin could go anywhere without the ring.

"Exactly what I said, he's gone. When I went to bed last night, he was playing World of Warcraft on his computer, but when I woke up again this morning, the game was still on, but he was nowhere to be seen. I've been calling him, I even tried a summoning ritual, but nothing. He's just gone. What did you do?"

"Nothing! I've been working on a crisis of my own. I think Cas said the last time he visited Heaven that the angels thought they might be close to breaking the spell, but that was weeks ago, and we haven't—" Sam is interrupted by Cas, rushing into the library with a phone pressed to his ear.

"Sam, Hannah says they've broken the spell. Heaven is open again, and the souls have been allowed to enter." He pauses, noting the phone at Sam's ear. "Who are you talking to?"

"Ms. Tran. Kevin's gone."

Cas cocks his head to the side, but then smiles his bright, quirky little smile. "The Gates have been opened, then. This is excellent news!" He pauses, listening to his end. "Hannah says breaking the spell produced a vial of Grace. She thinks that it is probably mine. We must go and find out."

"Yeah, of course. Hey, Ms. Tran, did you hear any of that?" Sam says into the phone.

"My son is at Heaven's Gates?"

"Sounds like it. We're gonna go up there to get Cas' Grace back. I'll check on him for you, if you want me to."

"Please do. Tell him I love him, and I will see him when I get there."

"But Ms. Tran, you know everyone's Heaven is individual, right? You probably won't see him. Just a memory of him."

Ms. Tran pulls the no-nonsense voice that always makes Sam stand up straighter, even though it makes him feel like he's ten years old again and just got caught breaking an expensive vase. "You told me your friend Ash figured out how to hop from Heaven to Heaven. What makes you think I won't do the same thing?"

She has a point. "Yeah, alright, I'll tell him. Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Tran?"

"No, I'll just have to get used to the idea that he's dead. At least I know where he is now. Thanks, Sam."

"Don't thank me. I uh… I gotta go. I'll call you when I get back to let you know how he's doing."

"Goodbye, Sam."

"Bye." Sam hangs up, frowning. He doesn't deserve the gratitude Mrs. Tran expressed. If it weren't for him, her son would still be alive. He can't think about that now, though. They have work to do.

Cas is still on the phone, talking to Hannah in Enochian for some reason. Sam almost never hears him use the language, but they must be talking about something that there isn't an English equivalent for. Cas hangs up after a few more minutes with a stunned look. Sam gives him a minute to process.

"So, we heading upstairs then?"

"Yes, if that's alright. You don't have to come with me, if you would rather stay here and continue to research the Knights."

"No way you're going by yourself. What if something happens? Besides I promised Mrs. Tran I'd check up on Kevin, make sure he's adjusting well to his new digs."

"Yes, Kevin will be among the new souls awaiting judgement. It's possible that he will not have placement for several weeks. Hannah says they have quite a large back-log."

"That's okay. I'd still like to see him, make sure he's okay. So, ready to hit the road in five?"

Cas cocks his head again. "I am ready now."

"Well, I need to get a jacket, so give me a little time. I'll meet you in the garage." He leaves Cas standing in the library and goes to grab his coat.

/

Castiel had not realized how far away the door to Heaven was when he'd gone with Gadreel the first time. The trip had been instantaneous then with the help of Gadreel's wings. In the car, it takes several hours. Asariel and Purah greet them with smiles as they enter the park. "Castiel, it is a pleasure to see you under better circumstances," Asariel says.

"It is. This is Sam Winchester. I told Hannah I would be bringing him."

Asarial nods. "We have been expecting you. You should have no difficulties bringing the human with you."

Castiel senses the sharp look Sam sends his way, but ignores it. "Thank you," he says instead, walking passed the two angels to the swirling, glowing gateway.

Sam follows, but grabs his arm before they enter. "What did they mean, there shouldn't be an problems bringing me? I'm not going to end up in a black hole or something, am I?"

"You will be fine," Castiel assures him. He doesn't give Sam anymore time to worry before stepping into the portal. He emerges in the waiting room, full to capacity with reaped souls. At the arrivals desk stand two angels, processing souls as quickly as possible. Castiel recognizes Ingrid, but has never seen the other. They both greet him with smiles, but say nothing to him. They are far too busy to be bothered at the moment. He feels Sam's presence behind him at that moment and turns to smile at him. "I told you that you would be fine."

Sam is looking around the lobby as though he has never seen one before, though Castiel knows that he has seen hundreds. "Where are we?" he asks.

"This is the room in which souls wait to be judged. Normally, it is not nearly as crowded, but with the spell locking Heaven blocking entry, their number has grown considerably."

"So, Kevin's in here somewhere?"

"Most likely."

Sam begins calling Kevin's name, elbowing his way through the crowd as politely as possible. He gets a few sour looks, but the majority of the souls let him by without comment, looking too relieved that they are no longer in the Veil to be offended. Castiel follows behind him, an easy task with the large gap he leaves in his wake.

"Sam!" calls a voice that Castiel recognizes as Kevin Tran's. He sees Kevin walk up to Sam with a big smile and practically jump into Sam's arms to hug him. "You guys did it! Thank you so much," he says.

Sam leans down to meet him halfway, sadness settling on his shoulders. Castiel checks and sees Sam's face contort in guilt. "It wasn't us, Kevin. It was all the angels. We've been working on uh… something else."

"What else? Is there some other crisis? Does it ever end with you guys? Hey Cas. Where's Dean?" Castiel is surprised to be pulled into a hug of his own. He returns it with pleasure, only pulling away when Dean's name is mentioned.

"Dean is a Knight of Hell," he answers.

Kevin's eyes widen. "What? How? I don't understand…"

"He received the Mark of Cain from Cain, and then Metatron killed him. When he died, his body and soul were transformed into a Knight of Hell. We have been trying to return him to his human state."

"Yeah, but don't worry about it, Kev. You're done with all that. You've more than earned your reprieve," Sam assures him, patting his shoulder.

Kevin narrows his eyes at Sam. "That's kind of a big deal. How are you going to fix him? There's like no way to kill them. The lore was pretty clear about that. I can't imagine what changing one back to a human would have to involve. You'll need help."

"We're fine. You worry about you. Hey, I talked to your mom. She told me to tell you that she loves you and she'll see you when she gets here."

Kevin nods. "Yeah, tell her the same from me when you get back. Anything I should know about what happens next?"

"Just enjoy yourself. And if you happen to bump into a guy named Ash, have a beer with him. He's crazy, but he's also kind of awesome."

"Ash? Okay, thanks. I guess I'll see you around, then. Thanks again, Sam. And you know, don't blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't you."

Sam nods, but Castiel can tell that he isn't taking the words to heart. Castiel can understand the guilt he lives with; he carries a similar weight. Sam hugs Kevin once more, picking him up for a second. "I'm gonna miss you, buddy. You take care of yourself."

"You, too. And Dean, when you get things right with him. I know you're mad at him, but he's all you've got."

"Alright, Dr. Phil. Thanks for the advice. See you." He ruffles Kevin's hair and gives him one final one-armed hug. Castiel doesn't wait to get a second hug of his own. He knows that when he gets his Grace back, he will be able to see Kevin whenever he likes, but it still feels like a goodbye.

"Take care of yourself, Kevin Tran. You were a good Prophet and a good friend. Pray to me if you ever need anything."

"Thanks, Cas. I'll see you around."

They exchange a final wave, and then Castiel is leading Sam to the front of the line. Ingrid looks quickly up as they approach and lets them pass without comment.

"So where do we go from here?"

"This way." Castiel indicates the doors that lead to the inner offices and heads in that direction, trusting that Sam will follow.

Hannah heads them off as soon as she sees them in the central office. "Castiel, you're back. Excellent." She nods at Sam. "It is nice to see you again, Sam." Hannah looks calm, confident, as she usually does. Castiel looks around the room, registering that all the angels look this way. He would have expected a bit more celebration, considering the achievement they have accomplished, but he understands that many of them are still reluctant to allow themselves to feel emotions. They will learn eventually. They follow Hannah into Metatron's former office and to the desk, where a vial of blue light sits. Castiel knows immediately that the Grace belongs to him. He gravitates to it like a moth to flame, unable to stay away. The dwindling stolen Grace inside him twists and churns, his vessel trying to expel it in favor of his own. Castiel picks up the vial and holds it to his eyes. The last (and only) time he saw it, he thought he would never get it back. Now here it is, warm and wonderful in his hand.

"Is that it?" Sam asks from behind him.

"Yes. This is my Grace." Castiel opens the vial, intending to drink it down. "Close your eyes, Sam," he cautions, aware that despite his status as a vessel, he cannot withstand the sight of an angel's Grace any better than the average human. He glances behind him to see that Sam has his back turned and an arm over his eyes. Castiel puts the vial to his lips, but the Grace resists sliding out of the vial, almost as though there is a barrier between his lips and the vial. He holds it out, examining it for an invisible lid, but there is nothing. "It won't… I can't get it to come out."

Sam turns around again, frowning. "What do you mean? I thought it just sort of… poofed at you."

Hannah is also frowning. "Is it possible that the Grace you stole is fighting against your own? Yours will no doubt overpower it and destroy it when it reaches your system."

"So what, you think he needs to get rid of the old stuff before he can put in the new?" Sam asks. "But I thought getting rid of the Grace could kill him."

Hannah shoots Sam a worried look. "It could, but that might be the only way. Castiel?"

Castiel nods. He can feel that what she is proposing is the reality of the situation. The stolen Grace will not permit his own Grace to enter his vessel. He will have to rid himself of the other. "If expelling the other Grace incapacitates me, you will have to assist me, Hannah. Sam cannot without risk of blindness or death."

"I understand."

"Wait, no way. Cas, you could die. I've lost enough people. You're not gonna do this. It isn't worth it," Sam protests, grabbing onto Cas' coat sleeve.

"I understand your concern, but I will die either way, Sam. I have very little Grace left. It is only a short matter of time before it is gone. Expelling it now is a risk I must take. You can stay outside if you do not wish to witness it."

"No, I'm not going anywhere. This is crazy, but I'm not leaving you alone."

"I will not be alone. There is Hannah."

Sam eyes her. "No offense, lady, but I'm not going anywhere."

"I did not ask you to. You will need to cover your eyes once more, though. Castiel?"

Castiel nods, understanding that it is time. He decides it would be better for his vessel if he sits. Collapsing on the floor can be messy and painful, and while he no longer houses a human soul along with his own essence, he does not wish to damage it. He takes a seat in one of the visitor chairs, taking a moment to feel the hard wood under his hands. If these are to be his last moments of existence, he wants to savor them. He takes a deep breath, and lets the Grace out through his mouth as he exhales. The last thing he registers before the world goes dark is searing, unending pain.

/

Sam turns at the sound of a gasp from Hannah to find Cas slumped in a chair. One check of his pulse says there is none, and he isn't breathing, either. "Fix him! He's gonna die!" Sam shouts, snapping Hannah out of her own shock. She snatches the vial out of Cas' hand and tips it to his mouth.

"Shut your eyes again. This will burn them out." Sam does as instructed, but he can still sense the bright sensation of light and thunder as the Grace takes hold. It's like being electrocuted, but without the awareness of pain. When he drops his arm, his entire body aches.

Cas is still slumped in the chair, not breathing. Hannah leans over him, listening to his chest. "I don't understand. The Grace is inside him. I can feel it. Why isn't he waking?"

Sam reaches over and checks his pulse. It's non-existent. Sam can't remember if he's ever felt one on Cas before, though. When Cas was killed by the Reaper, he'd been human. He didn't know if angels had a pulse. On a whim, he grabs onto Hannah's wrist to check for one on her and finds one. She snatches her arm away with an offended look and rubs at her wrist. "Do not touch me again, please."

"Sorry, I needed to know if you have a pulse. Cas doesn't. I think he's… you know… dead. For real."

"But there was no burning of his wings. They are still intact, as is his essence. I can see them."

"What do you think, then? He isn't breathing and he doesn't have a pulse. I can try CPR, but I don't think that works on angels."

"CPR?" Hannah asks, looking very confused.

Sam waves the question off. They have more important things to focus on at the moment. Sam pulls Cas off the chair and lays him out on the floor. Hannah hovers, but is generally unhelpful. Sam checks again for breath and gets nothing. "God dammit, Cas…" he mutters as he leans over and begins CPR. Hannah cries out a protest, but Sam ignores her. "I'm trying to re-start his heart. Either help or shut up," he barks at her. It isn't nice, but he doesn't have time for nice right now. His friend is dying. He knew this was been a bad idea.

He works on Cas for over an hour, but eventually one of the angels pulls him off and restrains him from going back to Cas' body. "He's gone, Sam. You have to stop," says a voice at his ear. He looks up to see several angels standing around them, all looking sad, but also a little scared of him.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Castiel knew the risk he was taking. There's nothing more we can do," Hannah says, crouching down in front of him.

Sam collapses back in defeat, tears pricking his eyes. Cas was the last person alive that he cared about. Dean's lost to him, everyone else he's ever loved is dead, and now even Cas… Someone helps him to stand and sits him in the chair Cas… was in. He slumps over his knees and buries his face in his hands and cries.

He loses time. At one point, someone was rubbing his back. At another, people left. When he returns to reality, Castiel's body is gone and so are most of the angels. Sam is alone in the room, or at least he thinks he is until the sound of shuffling feet reaches his ears.

He looks up and makes eye contact with Hannah. "What do you want to do, then?"

Hannah blinks. "Do? We will incur his body and move on. What else is there to do?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, he was a hunter. He'll have a hunter's funeral."

"Sam…"

Sam stands, brushing the strange angel's hands off him. "You guys barely even mourn. I'm taking him down to Earth and giving him a real funeral. You can come if you want, but I'm not backing down. It's what Cas would want."

"Castiel would want to be treated like the angel that he was. His vessel will be disposed of and he will be mourned."

"His vessel? He was human for a while. It wasn't just a vessel anymore. It was him. I'm giving him a funeral."

Hannah glares at him. "Humans always think they know best, don't they? He was an angel."

"He was my brother, and he's getting a funeral." Sam cannot believe he is having this argument. He's exhausted. His friend is dead. And now he is arguing over whether or not they're going to give him a funeral.

"He was our brother! You have no biological relationship to him!" Hannah is visibly shaking from anger, but that's okay, because so is Sam.

"Then act like it! You don't throw away family! You give them a send-off."

"You are an insufferable person. I don't understand how Castiel could have ever stood talking to you."

"He was my friend. That meant something to him. Aren't you the one who was protesting all the angel deaths? I would have thought giving respect to the dead would mean something to you."

"I do give respect to the dead! There's no reason for the fanfare of a funeral. We will remember Castiel as he was in life, and we will never forget the sacrifices he made for us." Hannah gets as close to in Sam's face as her shorter frame will allow. "And when I say we will never forget, I mean it. How long will you mourn him? A few years? We will keep his memory alive for millennia."

Sam glares. That was a low blow. "So will I. You think he won't have a place in my Heaven, if I end up up here? Why do you even care? You're just going to throw his body away, it sounds like. What does it matter if I take it back with me and burn it?"

Hannah looks like she might have a come-back, but nothing comes out. Finally, she huffs in frustration and throws her hands up. "Fine, take it! Do whatever it is you humans do to your dead. I'm sure it will be so much more respectful than what we would have done for him."

Sam ignores the sarcasm. "Thank you. You're doing the right thing. I can send you a text when I get the pyre together, if you want to come."

"No thank you." She has a thunderous expression, one that would be kind of scary if Sam wasn't so determined to have his way.

He wipes at his face, trying to get rid of the tear tracks he'd been too distracted earlier to take care of. "Where can I get his body? I didn't see where they took it."

"Tell Diane that you have my permission to take it. She will find someone to help you move him and get you through the barrier without injury."

Sam hadn't even considered how he was going to get out again. He'd forgotten that that might be an issue. "Thanks." He turns to leave, but Hannah grabs his arm to stop him.

"Send a prayer to me when you intend to… burn him. I was wrong. I believe I would like to attend."

"Yeah, sure. I'll uh… I'll see you, then." He leaves, feeling awkward and weighted-down and so, so tired. He locates Diane, a tiny African woman with a friendly smile and a thick French accent. She shows him where they laid Cas out and helps him through the barrier. He didn't need her help to pick Cas up. He gets him into the backseat of the Rambler and starts the long ride to the bunker.

/

Once Sam has Castiel's body settled in his own bed, he spends the better part of a day building the pyre. Sometime in the middle, he temporarily lost his mind and decided to call Dean. His brother didn't answer, but that didn't stop him from leaving a message, explaining about what had happened to Cas. He doubts that Dean will care, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't at least let Dean know. He got a text half an hour later that just read: **nice try, hot shot**. Sam wasn't even mad.

Once the pyre is complete, he spends some time sitting at Cas' bedside, not saying anything, just sitting. If this is the last time he will get to be with his friend, he doesn't want to rush it.

He starts when Cas buzzes.

"Shit, his phone. I forgot." Sam carefully digs around in his pockets until he finds the phone. The buzzing is Dean calling. Sam is surprised, but he doesn't know why. Dean might be a demon, but Sam knows what Cas has always meant to him. He opens the phone to find several dozen messages, mostly texts, all from Dean. He's been texting Cas almost daily since the day Cas called him three months ago. Sam had known that they were still communicating, but he never would have guessed it would be this much. There are over 3000 texts, dozens of pictures. Not all of them originate from Dean. Cas sent him a picture of Sam asleep in the passenger seat, drool trailing down his chin. Sam winces, but really he's fascinated. They have been in almost constant contact. It didn't even slow down when Dean confronted them in the bunker and threatened to kill them both. Cas texted him that night.

Since Sam left the voicemail for Dean, he's called or texted Cas thirty times. As Sam goes through them, amazed at how worried they're beginning to sound, another pops up. **sammy says your dead call me im not falling for this bullshit**

Sam shakes his head, choking down the tears threatening to escape his eyes again. He sets the phone down on the bed, and his head joins it a moment later as his shoulders begin to shake, the tears winning over his determination.

An hour later, he gets up again and goes to take a shower. When he's out and dressed in his nicest outdoor clothing, he finds a sheet in the linen closet and wraps Cas up in it. The ritual of it is cathartic. He's able to let a little of Cas go with every wrap of cloth around Cas' body. He leaves the trench coat. It was Cas' favorite article of clothing, and besides, the only person who would want it is Dean, and Sam doubts he'd want it now.

Body prepared and pyre made, Sam sends a prayer up to Hannah to let her know he'll be starting the fire in an hour. He sends a text to Dean to let him know, too, even though he doubts he'll come. Sam even sends one to Crowley. He debates trying to track down Amelia and Claire Novak, but decides against it. Cas never said, but he thinks Jimmy left a long time ago. Sam wouldn't be surprised if they'd already held a funeral for him. They've probably moved on by now. Sam doesn't want to drag that all up again

He takes his time bringing Cas outside, holding him carefully so as not to jostle the sheet. Cas doesn't even smell dead yet, which surprises Sam considering that rigor mortis should have set in by now. He decides that it's an angel thing. Hannah is waiting at the pyre when he eventually makes it outside. She helps him to place the body without a word. They stand facing it, not saying anything for several minutes.

"Do you want to say anything?" Sam asks quietly. He feels calmer now that it's actually happening, more settled.

Hannah looks at him curiously. "What should I say?"

"Usually we say something about the person. Favorite memories, best features, that sort of thing."

"Maybe you should start?"

"Okay." Sam pauses to consider. He's only had the closure of a funeral for a few of his friends and family. He wants to do this right. "Cas was one of my best friends. He was like a brother to me. I loved him a lot. I liked how blunt he was. He never held anything back. And he always fought so hard for what he believed in, even when what he was doing was wrong. He has been there for me at times when I thought there was no one in the world I could trust. He was loyal and kind and funny, in his own weird way. He was also scary as hell when he wanted to be. He once scared me so much I thought I was going to pee my pants. Weird thing to like about a guy, I know, but I did. He was so weird, but also kind of a badass. I'm gonna miss the hell out of him. I don't know what I'm going to do without him."

Hannah watches him with confusion, but eventually she must understand, because she nods. "Castiel was my leader, but he was also my friend. I believed in him. I trusted him. He was one of the best angels I have ever known." She quirks a corner of her lip up. "He was a little weird, though. I think it was one of his best traits."

"Me, too."

Sam would say more, but the growl of a car engine interrupts them. Sam whips his head around. He'd recognize that engine anywhere. The Impala pulls up the drive, dirty and a little worse for wear. Dean climbs out, looking murderous. "Where's Cas? Are you fucking serious, Sam? You let him die? I'm gonna fuckin' kill you," Dean growls, stalking towards them with the Blade clutched in one white-knuckled hand. Sam backs up a few paces, stunned.

"Dean, calm down. He chose it. Hannah found his Grace. He had to get rid of all the stolen Grace to take it in again. It didn't take. He knew the risks when he did it. It wasn't my fault."

"I don't care." Dean lifts the Blade, ready to slash Sam down with it, but his hand stops mid-swing and hovers an inch from Sam's face. He struggles, but the wrist doesn't move. "Bitch, if you're doing this, I'm gonna cut you down next," Dean snarls at Hannah. She takes a step back.

"This isn't me… I don't…"

"Drop the weapon," comes a raspy, faint voice from under the sheet. Sam is shocked to watch Cas sit up and pull the sheet from his face to reveal a displeased look. They all freeze. Well, all except Dean, who flips out.

"You made me drive all this fucking way, and he isn't even dead?! Really? As soon as Cas lets me go, I'm gonna fuck your shit up, you little bitch!" Sam steps back another step, still trying to take this all in. Cas isn't dead? Cas isn't dead!

"Cas, you're alive! Thank god," Sam says, grinning.

Cas turns his frown on Sam. "Of course I am not dead. Why am I wrapped in a sheet?" He plucks at the sheet with a dubious expression, glances at his surroundings. "Am I on a funeral pyre? Were you intending to burn my body?"

"We thought you were dead, Cas. You weren't breathing and you're heart stopped. I did CPR on you for like an hour. You haven't moved in two days."

"I was asleep," he grumbles as he pushes away the rest of the sheet and stands.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? I'm sorry."

Cas turns his attention to Dean and walks over. He gets right in Dean's face. "I told you to drop your weapon."

Dean winces and the Blade drops from his hand. "Jesus, what the fuck?" he says, shaking his hand and rubbing at his wrist.

"I have my own Grace back, Dean. We are now evenly matched."

"You think so?" Dean asks, puffing his chest out a little.

Castiel cocks his head to the side with a confident little smile that says he's talking to an uppity insect. "Yes."

Dean flies across the clearing and smashes into a tree. He shakes himself of the fall and growls, flinging a hand out, and Cas is flung in the other direction. He hits the pyre hard, knocking a section of kindling over. Sam stands back, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. Hannah must not feel the same way because she steps up and helps Cas up, sending a glare Dean's way. He's pinned to the tree a second later. He snarls and struggles, but it doesn't do anything.

Castiel walks up to him smirking, looking him over. "It looks as though you are out-matched."

"You tricked me, asshole. Made me think you were dead this whole time. I should've known this was a fuckin' trap. Fuck, you even got your little angel bitch to help."

Castiel grabs him by the nape.. "Do not refer to Hannah, or any other female, as a 'bitch'. You are not in a position to test me right now. The last time I saw you, you held a blade to my ribs and threatened to gut me. I am disinclined to show you leniency." He turns away, but doesn't let go of Dean, who is spitting mad at him. "Sam, will you get the demon shackles, please? I believe you said they were effective against Abaddon."

"Yeah, I'll just…" Sam's mind is swimming, but he can take orders just fine. He jogs towards the house and hurries inside. It doesn't take him more than five minutes to get the manacles from where he left them in the library and brings them back. He hesitates at Cas' side, worried that Dean will somehow strike out at him if he touches him, but Hannah picked up the Blade, so he thinks he's safe. He gets the manacles on and clicks them shut, all the while looking into the black, soulless eyes of his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean cannot believe this bullshit. He should have listened to Crowley. "It's a trap, Dean. Featherbrains can't be dead. The whole world would mourn his precious soul." Sarcastic, yes, but right. "Goddammit," he mutters, pulling against his bindings. They have him in holed up in a church, chained to a chair with the demon-proof chains. He's tried everything to get the chains off, but no go. Hannah is leaning against the wall in the corner, watching him with her judgy, beady little eyes. Dean looks her up and down. She's dressed like a hipster professor, and she's not even hot. He smirks at her.

"So, you got a hard-on for Cas, I hear."

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

"You think he knows? He's kinda dumb about those things. I bought him a hooker once, and he spent the whole time talking to her about her daddy issues." He twists his head to the side in mock-confusion. "Can angels even have sex?"

Hannah makes an annoyed huffing sound and re-crosses her ankles, but refuses to answer him. He shrugs, pleased to know he go to her anyway.

Sam walks in with a familiar leather roll and unpacks it on the altar. "Thanks, Hannah, I got it from here."

"Yeah, Hannah, thanks for watching me. Why don't you go see what Cas is doing? I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Hannah gives Dean a dirty look as she slips out the door passed Sam. Dean laughs. Sam gives him a look that says he thinks he might be unbalanced. "You ready there, Savior? I know I'm ready to get on with the healin'," Dean says, grinning. "You know this isn't gonna work, right?"

"It will work. Your soul is in there somewhere. It just needs to be cleaned."

"Too bad you can't just give me a sponge bath, huh, Sammy?"

Sam pulls out the first syringe and injects himself before slowly pulling the plunger back. The fat tube fills with dark red liquid. When the plunger is pulled all the way back, Sam pulls the needle out and approaches Dean. Dean doesn't even struggle as the needle is jammed into his forearm. This isn't going to work. It's just a time-waster while he figures out a way to either get word to Crowley or find an escape route. The blood entering his system tingles unpleasantly, but barely effects him, even after Sam says the accompanying prayer. There's a flair of sensation, but it quickly dies down.

"Well, that was effective."

Sam rolls his eyes and leaves, taking the syringe with him. He must be cleaning them, in cast he needs to use them again. Dean is left alone in the cavernous space, nothing to entertain him but the endless creek of the wind against the old, battered windows. He rests his hand on the back of the chair and thinks about his favorite centerfolds for awhile.

An hour later, Sam returns with a fresh syringe and another prayer. It tingles again, but nothing more. He doesn't feel any deep sense of guilt or strong emotion. No burning desire to confess his sins and be absolved. Just boredom and annoyance. Sam leaves again without saying anything other than the prayer, and another hour passes in boredom.

Dean's phone starts to buzz around hour five, but he can't reach it to get it out. His skin is starting to itch from being cooped up so long without his Blade. The Mark shifts and squirms under his skin, irritating him. He doesn't feel like he's being 'cured', though. The world is still dark and red-tinged, and he still doesn't feel much of it. He remembers what it was like to be human, all the guilt and the pain and the weakness, the anger, the unease, the uncertainty. He doesn't want any of that back, not ever again. He doesn't understand why Sam is trying so hard. He'd honestly rather Sam was trying to kill him.

He should have never come back. Why had he been so riled up by the thought of Cas being dead? Cas doesn't matter to him. He's a fun plaything Dean likes to toy with and dangle carrots in front of to see if he can make him dance. He wouldn't mind getting into Cas' pants, but that's the extent of his real interest in the guy. Dean slams his head against the back of his chair in frustration and clenches his teeth. Why had he been so fucking stupid?

The phone buzzes again just as Sam's heavy footfalls sound on the steps. Dean squirms, trying to see if there's any way he can get to the phone, but he can't contort himself enough before the door creeks open and Sam's in the room. "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd head over to Texas and pay a visit to your ex, maybe find out what her insides look like. I'll even take care of that soldier boy of hers for ya. Call it a courtesy."

Sam is extra forceful with the needle this round. His jaw is set hard. Oh, Dean hit a nerve alright. Dean grins, letting his eyes flick to black. "What's a matter, Sammy? You don't want me talkin' 'bout your little girlfriend? I thought about paying her a visit, you know, when you wouldn't get off my back. I bet her blood tastes sweet, like warm pie. Maybe when I'm done with you, I'll go see what she's up to."

Sam rips the syringe out and says the prayer with an extra growl, but he doesn't respond to Dean's taunts. He stalks out as soon as he's done. Dean continues to taunt him every time he comes in for the next few hours. By the time they reach hour twelve, it's obvious Sam's starting to droop.

"Shut up!" he snaps at Dean after Dean offers a particularly vicious comment about Jessica and how every girl Sam's ever dated has been doomed to die.

"Oh, what's the matter, Sammy? This gettin' to be too much for you? You could always quit, you know. It's been twelve hours. It obviously isn't going to work. You should have listened to me, coulda saved us both a lot of time. Now you're stuck with me, and you can't even cure me. Or kill me. What now?"

Sam doesn't say anything as he turns and stalks from the room with an angry glower. Dean just laughs at him, long and hard.

/

"This isn't working. He hasn't even shown one sign that it's effecting him at all. Crowley at least started getting weepy and emotional after a few hours. Dean's just as off the rails now as he was twelve hours ago," Sam says, slumping into the front seat of the Impala. He's still buzzing with anger over what Dean said, and the shitty part about it is that he probably wasn't even wrong. Every girl Sam's ever slept with has died. Hell, even some of the women he's only kissed. Amelia's the lone survivor, and Sam knows that if Dean ever gets out of their hold, she's the first target on his hit list.

"I was worried this would happen. Your blood isn't strong enough to combat the Mark. Dean has far more power than what even a demon of Crowley's status would possess," Cas says.

"So, what do we do, then? We can't leave him tied up forever. And we can't kill him. We don't have anything that will work on him."

Castiel furrows his brow in thought. Hannah stares at him as though she can read his thoughts through his head. Hell, as far as Sam knows, maybe she can. Sam starts tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, unable to keep still with all the worry and anger roiling through him.

"I don't know if it will work, but perhaps I should attempt the ritual. I have a strong emotional connection to Dean. Our bond has already successfully broken my own corruption, not once, but twice. There is every chance that it can be used to get through to Dean's human soul. With my Grace fully restored, my blood is automatically sanctified. If purified human blood is not enough, perhaps holy angel blood will be."

Cas looks up at him for approval, but all Sam can think about is the way Dean looked when he jumped out of the Impala last night. He'd looked every inch the infuriated demon that he was, and it had scared the shit out of Sam. Cas might be right. Even when nothing else matters to Dean, Cas has always been able to get through to him. He nods. "I'll sterilize the syringes for you."

"Not necessary. I am an angel. Any disease you might harbor cannot effect me. Can you repeat the prayer for me?"

Sam does, enunciating every syllable so that Cas can get it right. Cas repeats it back to him once to make sure, and then he's off to work on Dean, and Sam is left with Hannah, who looks like she's just been punched in the stomach.

Sam turns and stretches his legs out across the bucket seat so he can look at her better. "You okay?"

She looks at him, but her eyes aren't completely focused. "What did he mean about their bond?"

Sam shrugs, not really sure how to describe it. "They're just close, always have been. They just kind of… get each other. I don't know, it's weird. Sometimes I think they might be in love with each other, but Dean's always been too repressed to realize it, I think. And now… I don't know what's going on now. I don't think they do, either."

Hannah averts her eyes, fiddling with a button on her jacket. "In love with each other? But Castiel knows that angels are not meant to be with humans."

"Cas isn't exactly a rule-follower. Besides, with all that's happened with you guys living on Earth, that's kind of changed, hasn't it? We've heard of dozens of angels hooking up with humans."

"Yes, I suppose."

Sam watches her closely and thinks he might understand what's going on in her head. "Look, I know Cas likes you, and I'm sure if Dean was gone or dead or whatever, he'd been interested in starting something with you, but you gotta understand. Cas and Dean have been linked together since almost the moment Cas pulled him out of Hell the first time. Even if they never get their shit together, they're never gonna be unstuck from each other."

His words cause her obvious sadness, something he regrets. It must be confusing for her, having these kinds of feelings for the first time, and to hear that they aren't going to be reciprocated? It must be awful. He reaches over the seat and pats her hand. "How about I get us a drink? You like whiskey?"

She nods, looking down at her hands. "Yes, thank you."

Sam gets out of the car and goes to the trunk, hoping that he can count on Dean's habits enough to be right. He comes back with two full bottles of Jack. If she's anything like Cas, it's gonna take way more than a glass to get her feeling no pain. She doesn't even protest when he hands her one, just unscrews the cap and swallows a few gulps. They spend the rest of the morning drinking their feelings away. They see no sign of Cas or Dean until much later, when the loud noises wake them from their drunken slumber.

/

When Castiel enters the church, Dean grins at him with black eyes. "They send the cavalry in, then? Sammy's blood's not gonna work, so let's try the angel's? You gonna send Hannah in next?"

Castiel ignores him and pulls out one of the syringes Sam had cleaned and returned to the carrying case. He quickly draws out a vial of his own blood and approaches Dean, who is still smirking at him with those soulless black eyes. Castiel looks right into them as he injects the needle into Dean's neck and pushes the plunger down. Dean hisses as the blood enters his system, flinching away from the needle as much as his confinement will allow. He closes his eyes, breaking their eye contact, and when they open again, they are their usual vivid green, searching and a little scared.

Castiel smiles at him and says the words, watching as each one causes a flicker of Dean's eyes or a twitch of his mouth. He had been right. This was going to work.

Unlike Sam, he chooses to stay with Dean in between injections. He takes a seat across from Dean, leaning his elbows on his knees so that he can examine the over-sized syringe. It isn't as painful-looking at the Grace extractor, but it still looks rather dramatic.

Dean can only stand the silence for a few minutes before he's back to mocking mode. "You know that Hannah chick has a thing for you, right?"

"Hannah is my sister."

"So, you're not thinking about hitting that?"

"No, I do not intend to 'hit that'."

"I think I'm gonna, then. She looks like she could use a good fuck."

"I would love to see you try to seduce her."

"Oh yeah? That turn you on, Cas? Wanna watch us fuck, too? Wouldn't have figured you for a voyeur."

"I'd like to watch her shut down any and all attempts from you. I think it would be amusing. You don't handle rejection well."

"You think she could resist this?" Dean stretches out as much as his bindings will allow, opening his bowed legs wide as if to highlight his groin.

"I think it would be difficult not to resist. Your true face is repulsive at the moment."

Dean scowls, clearly annoyed that Cas didn't take his bait. Castiel sets the syringe on the floor and focuses on Dean. He said Dean's face is repulsive, but that isn't entirely true. It is twisted and dark and full of violence and anger and blood, but there is also something seductive about it. It calls to Castiel, draws him, forces him to look. The fire and blood dance across his features in a ballet that borders on beautiful. Castiel finds himself wishing to reach out and touch. He remains seated.

Dean begins to hum, Metallica if Castiel had to guess. He had tried to cultivate an interest in Dean's music, but could find little appealing about that particular band. Dean drums his fingers on the chair arms in a matching beat.

The second hour approaches, and Castiel picks the syringe up again and stands. "That time already, Doc? Awe shucks, can't we skip it?" Dean asks.

Castiel takes the required amount of blood from his arm and brings it to Dean, sliding the needle beneath his skin with ease. Dean shudders again as the blood enters his veins, trying to pull away. Castiel holds him still and doesn't remove the needle until the chamber is empty. Dean snarls at him as Castiel begins to say the incantation again. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you as soon as I get out of these chains. I'll rip your wings right off your back and make you choke on them."

Castiel notes that his reaction is worse now, but otherwise doesn't respond. He wonders how the reaction will change with each dose. Sam had said that Crowley started crying and got extremely emotional. Castiel has only ever seen Dean truly let go of his emotions twice in their friendship. The first time, when Castiel found him in Hell and it was made clear to him that he was being Saved, Dean had railed against him in pure, unadulterated fury. He had taken all his fighting skills and all the weapons at his disposal and used them to try to take Castiel down. He hadn't succeeded, but the spark of his soul had caused an answering spark of real interest in Castiel. The second time, Dean had been begging for his life. The brightness of his soul as he pleaded with Castiel had temporarily blinded him and broken his connection to Naomi. He looks forward to seeing that bright soul again.

Dean continues to tell him what he's going to do to him in graphic detail for the remainder of the hour. Castiel listens with a sense of calm. This is the final primal scream of an animal preparing to die.

In the middle of the third injection, Dean looks up at Cas with a glimmer of his old self shining through the twisted mask of his demon face. Castiel cannot resist stroking his cheek. Dean's eyes flutter shut for just a moment before the mask bleeds back in and Dean grins viciously. Castiel steps away and returns to his chair.

"So angels really don't fuck each other?" Dean asks after round four.

"Some do. Some human siblings sleep together as well. I have no interest in doing so, personally."

"Not into the whole incest thing?"

"Are you?"

Dean considers. "Maybe if Sam was hot." Castiel rolls his eyes.

After the fifth injection, Dean snatches hold of his wrist as he pulls the syringe from Dean's arm. He grips the wrist tight and surges forward, pressing his lips to Cas' in a clumsy, teeth-clattering kiss. Castiel could pull away, he has the advantage after all, but something about the desperate way Dean kisses him gives him pause. He leans his face to the side and kisses back, sliding onto Dean's lap and combing fingers through his hair. Dean makes a soft noise as their tongues caress each other. Dean's fingers bunch up the back of his trench coat where it brushes against his chair. Castiel pushes back into the touch, making a pleased noise of his own. He had thought about kissing Dean again since their first time, but it had never been as gentle as this. Dean is careful with him, cautious.

He pulls his lips away just far enough for speech. "Wanna touch you," he whispers, licking at Cas' lips. Cas shifts closer.

"You are touching me."

"With my hands."

Castiel pulls away to look him over. His eye are green, but there is deception slithering over his soul. He should have known. Castiel stands abruptly and straightens his coat. Dean's sincere expression melts into an vicious smirk, and he laughs.

"That was a poor attempt at release. I would have expected better from a master manipulator," Castiel says, taking his seat once more on the pew.

"I got you all hot and bothered though, didn't I? I knew you wanted my dick."

"If you do not stop talking, I will be forced to gag you."

"I can get into that," Dean counters with a wink.

Castiel gives him a withering look. He grins back and spreads his legs wide again. There's a visible tent in his jeans. Castiel chooses to look away until it deflates.

At hour seven, Dean slumps over as the blood seeps into his veins, appearing to be in genuine pain. His breathing is labored. When he speaks, it is with panting breaths. "Cas, you can't finish this... I can't go back…to being human. I was no good as a human." He takes deep lung-fulls of air between words.

Castiel combs fingers through Dean's hair, sweaty and matted with old gel. "That isn't true. You are the best human I know."

Dean leans his head against Cas' hip. "That's bullshit, and you know it. I lied to my brother and turned him over to an angel to wear like a cheap suit. I got a kid under my protection killed. I'm no good for anything but drinking and sleeping with women."

"As a demon, you have lied, stolen, tortured, and killed. You even threatened, and—if what Sam tells me is true—attempted to kill both your brother and me. As a human, you saved lives and did everything you could to keep people safe. You might have gone astray a little, but you are still the best person I know."

"I don't feel like it."

Castiel pulls the needle from Dean's neck and lifts his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. Dean's soul is nearly clean, a few swirls of dark intent all that remains of his demonic face. His eyes are clear and full of sadness and completely, utterly beautiful. "I have seen all that humanity has to offer, and I have never been more certain of a human's goodness than I was the day I pulled you out of Hell. Not one thing you have ever done has made me doubt you since."

"Not even taking the Mark?"

"Not even taking the Mark. You did not know the magnitude of the burden being placed on your shoulders."

Dean opens his mouth to say more, but a new voice interrupts, accompanied by a slow clap. "Isn't this adorable. I didn't think you had a sappy side, Boss." Castiel turns to see three demons standing at the door to the church. Castiel does not recognize any of them. The woman in the middle was the one to speak. She smirks at Castiel when they make eye contact. "Didn't know you had a hard-on for the angel, either."

"Wonder how he neglected to mention that," the dark-haired man on the right says.

"That why you left in such a hurry, Boss? Had to go fuck your angel boyfriend?" the blonde on the right asks.

Castiel looks back down at Dean. These demons are speaking to him as though he has authority over them, disrespected authority, but authority nonetheless. Dean looks annoyed, but hiding beneath it is a fissure of worry Castiel can just make out. "I got ambushed, sue me. You gonna get me outta here or what?"

"Maybe. Crowley said to get you out, but he didn't mention you might be making out with featherbrains over here." The woman in the front points to Castiel with an angel blade. Castiel narrows his eyes at her.

"This a test? You wanna see if we can kill an angel, Boss?" the man asks.

"If it was, you've already failed. I told you, too much talkin'. Do the job. Get out," Dean says. He doesn't sound tired or in pain now. He sounds like a commanding officer chastising his soldiers. Understanding begins to overcome Castiel. These are Knights, like Dean. His Knights. This must be what he's been doing in Hell for the last few months, why they could no longer track him with GPS. He has to warn Sam and Hannah. Unless these three have already gotten to them. They could be in the car still with their throats cut. There hadn't been any blinding light to indicate an angel's death, but he hadn't been paying attention, either.

The demons don't give him any longer to think before they strike, going at him full-tilt. They are excellent fighters, stronger and fast than any demons Castiel has ever fought. A blade swipes at his stomach, but he manages to avoid it and strikes back at the demon behind him, stabbing him in the chest. To his dismay, the wound does little to stop the demon. It should have killed him. Castiel's suspicion was correct. These are Knights. Which means Castiel cannot kill them. He can make it difficult for them to fight, though. He jams the Blade into the blonde's spine, severing it. She crumples to the ground like a wet noodle. Castiel turns for the other, not even registering that there should be a third fighter. He beheads the man, shoving a hand to his temple and carving a Devil's Trap into his skull to prevent him from leaving his vessel. It is messy, but effective.

He turns to find the third, the first woman to speak, using her angel blade to pry open Dean's manacles. Dean shake them off and stands, grinning at Cas. He looks menacing, but he also does not appear to have regressed from his state five minutes before. Dean lifts his arm in the air and a moment later the First Blade comes flying through a broken window and smacks into his hand. Castiel prepares himself for a fight, but instead of going to Castiel, Dean turns and shoves the Blade into the woman's chest, twisting it until the last of her essence dissipates in an explosion of red light.

Dean drops the body and moves towards Castiel, who steps back a foot with his blade in front of him. It won't do much to stop Dean, but he can try.

It turns out that he doesn't have to. Dean grabs the blonde woman, just beginning to stand with a groan of difficulty, and stabs her in the neck. Castiel watches as she explodes in more red light. Dean dispatches the last in a quick swipe through his temple. Dean isn't even winded when he drops the head. He takes a step closer to Castiel and then another. Castiel takes a step back for every step Dean takes, holding his blade up without any intent to use it.

Dean must know that he will not use it, or maybe he just doesn't care. When Castiel's back hits the wall, Dean steps right into his personal space. He still has the Blade in his hand, dripping blood onto Castiel's shoes. The sound is loud in his ears. "Dean…" Castiel whispers.

He doesn't get to say anything else. Dean leans in and licks his upper lip, coaxing his mouth open and taking over. Cas drops his angel blade, using the hand to cling to Dean's jacket as his toes curl in his shoes. Dean cups his face with his free hand, rubbing a slow finger over his stubbled chin. The motion is just enough to sooth whatever worries Castiel has about Dean's intent. He could be stabbed at any moment and might not notice, too focused on all the ways Dean is touching him. Dean drops the Blade into a pocket of Castiel's coat, weighting it down, and wraps his arm around Castiel's waist, reaching down to squeeze his bottom through his pants. The kiss deepens with the touch, both pulling harder at the other, tugging closer.

They are interrupted by the loud bang of the church doors. Both turn to look and find Hannah and Sam stumbling in, neither steady on their feet. Hannah has an angel blade in one hand and an empty whiskey bottle in the other. Sam isn't much better, holding his knife out in front of him as though it is more for balance than defense. Castiel can smell the alcohol from across the church. Hannah peers at him through squinted eyes as she approaches. "Is he all clean?" she slurs.

"Nearly. Are you intoxicated?"

"Yesh."

"Wha'sgoin'on?" Sam mumbles, grabbing onto a pew for support. "We heard noises." He gets an eyeful of the bodies on the floor and collapses into a pew. "Shit, wha' happ'ned?"

"My Knights came to get me, which means Crowley knows where we are. Don't you think we should leave?" Dean says, turning back to look down at Cas for his answer.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him and begins speaking the prayer. Dean flinches hard, curling over and groaning. It is enough distraction for Castiel to push him back into the chair. "We're going to finish this. Crowley can come if he wants. I'm not leaving this church until you are human."

Dean fights the manacles, but Castiel uses a bit of Grace to force the issue. With the state Dean is in, Castiel knows he won't have the kind of strength needed to combat an angel's full power. The manacles click back into place, and Dean is once more in the chair. "God dammit, Cas. Crowley's gonna send his goons any minutes for me. You really want to fight a bunch of demons again?"

"I want you human. The rest I will deal with." Castiel turns on Sam and Hannah, both now slouching on a pew near the back. Hannah is leaning on Sam for support. She looks gray in the face. "You two thought it was a good idea to get intoxicated in the middle of a mission? You especially, Hannah. What were you thinking? I thought when the demons came through those doors that the both of you had been murdered."

"Nope, w're good," Sam says, holding a wobbly fist up. Hannah snorts into Sam's shoulder.

"We thought you had it."

"I am very disappointed with the both of you. Three Knights walked into this building without any resistance."

"Knights? Dean's th'only Knight," Sam says, frowning.

"He's not wrong," Dean says, causing Castiel to turn to him.

"What do you mean? My angel blade had little effect on them. How were they not Knights? Is there a new breed of demon that I was previously unaware of?"

"Nope, just didn't finish the ritual on any of them. They weren't ready. Today's a perfect example of why."

"Why did you make new Knights?"

"Deal with Crowley. I make the Knights, we take over Purgatory, I get to set up a permanent play palace wherever I want. It was gonna be sweet, too. I was gonna have like a harem and a karaoke bar and all kinds of booze. Porn theater with 24/7 Casa Erotica. It woulda been great."

"Tha' sounds stupid," Sam mutters. "You're a fuckin' idiot, Dean."

"Shut up, Sammy."

"No, I agree. That sounds extremely stupid. What were you thinking?" Castiel asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean looks up at him with big green eyes. "But porn theater, Cas…"

"And it didn't bother you that you first were going to have to wage war on Purgatory? You haven't spent enough time there?"

"I was gonna get Benny out and have a grand ole time. Didn't like the idea of working under Crowley, I'll give ya that, but I got somethin' he needs. Not much he could do to make my life miserable, right? So why not?"

"That's a terrible idea," Hannah says, still leaning on Sam's shoulder.

"You're a terrible… idea." Dean falters, makes a face at himself.

"Whoa, great come-back. They teach you that in Hell?"

Castiel turns to Hannah in confusion. He has never heard her use sarcasm before. He wasn't even certain she knew what it was.

"Shuddup," says Dean.

Hannah nearly falls over in a fit of giggles. "These are the creatures you think we should emulate? I have met chimpanzees that are smarter. They use alcohol to stifle their emotions. This is ridiculous."

Sam pokes her shoulder. "Hey, Miss I-Know-Everything, it worked, didn't it?"

She frowns at him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, thanks." She leans her head on his shoulder again and promptly passes out. Castiel does not want to know what they could be talking about, but it does not matter. They have far more important things to worry about. He walks over to the two of them and puts a hand on each of their foreheads, wiping their bodies of all traces of alcohol, as well as the biochemical effects of over-indulging.

"Get up. I need you awake and alert in case of attack. Dean is right. If the Knights could find us, Crowley will not be far behind. Dean is far too valuable to him to leave him to be cured. I need you both on look-out duty. I only have another hour with Dean before the ritual is complete. We need to stay protected until then."

Sam and Hannah both shake themselves and stand as he speaks. Hannah retrieves her angel blade from where it had slipped from her hand to the floor at some point and stands at attention. "You're right. I will go sweep the area, make sure no one is preparing an attack. Finish the ritual."

"I will. Be careful. Shout if you find anything, and fly out if your safety is at risk. You did not ask to be a part of this. It isn't your fight."

"If Crowley intends to take Purgatory using Dean Winchester, then protecting Dean Winchester from him is Heaven's fight. Do not worry about me, Castiel. I will be fine."

"Famous last words," Dean mutters from his chair. Castiel tries not to think of the implications. Hannah walks passed them and out of the church without responding to Dean. Sam follows a minute later, after patting Castiel on the arm and giving him a look of approval and, Castiel thinks, good luck. Castiel turns and surveys the scene. Dean is chained to his chair, a body laid out at his feet. The other two are bleeding out quickly, soaking the floor boards and leaving an unpleasant odor. There are still twenty minutes before the final dose can be administered. He spends ten minutes of that sinking the bodies well beneath the earth underneath the chapel and displacing the blood. The odor is gone by the time he is finished.

Dean watches him do all this from his seat, barely moving. When Castiel sits on the pew again, it is to Dean's eyes on him. "So, let's say this works, what then? I go back to being human? We go back to how things were? Sammy and I hunt. You go back up to Heaven. Business as usual?"

"Yes, I suppose. Is that not what you would like?"

"Not really. I'm kinda tired, Cas. These last few months have been nice. Yeah, I did some fucked-up shit, but at least I did what I wanted for a change."

"Getting drunk in bars and sleeping with sex workers? Is that how you would like to spend the rest of your life? What happened to the Dean I know? The original Dean would have been appalled at what you've turned into."

"Yeah well, the old Dean hated himself."

"We will work on that. Together." Castiel stands and takes the syringe from where it has fallen on the floor. A touch and it is sterile again. He takes the final vial of blood from his arm and goes to Dean.

"I don't wanna work on it, Cas. I wanna stay like this. Please." Dean looks scared—truly scared—for the first time.

Castiel offers him a small smile. "I am sorry, Dean, but you must be saved." He reaches over Dean to plunge the needle into his neck. Dean lets him, squeezing his eyes shut. The few windows remaining in the building begin to shake as he empties the syringe. He looks up to see Crowley standing in the doorway, glowering at him.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, we were almost finished," Castiel says, standing with the empty syringe in his hand. Crowley steps closer with a cautious look. Castiel begins the prayer.

Dean screams the primal scream of a dying creature, his head thrown back over the back of his chair. His eyes flicker from black to green and back again several times before they settled on the deep, glorious green that Castiel enjoys so much. As Crowley approaches, Dean rolls his head forward and peers up at them. "Fuck that hurt." When Castiel looks into his face, he sees the bright soul he has missed so much, cleansed of evil and shining more radiant than ever. He cannot resist the urge to touch and smooths his hand over Dean's forehead.

"I apologize, but it was necessary. You are cleansed now. Welcome back."

His words are a catalyst for Crowley, who swings an angel blade at him. He manages to catch it before it can do damage and twist it behind Crowley's back. "If I find that you have spoken to, looked at, or in any way contacted Dean ever again, I will not stop until you are dead. Do you understand me, demon?" He puts every ounce of power in his voice, spoken low in Crowley's ear.

Crowley yanks away from him and rubs his wrist as though he has been hurt. Castiel knows that he is pretending to garner sympathy. "My, Cas, I had no idea you felt that way about me."

"Go. I will not ask again." Castiel steps into Crowley's personal space, his smiting power buzzing at the edge of his fingertips. He would like nothing more than to place his hand on Crowley's forehead and burn out his essence, but he will wait. Dean is his priority, and Dean is hurting.

As if to remind them both of that fact, Dean groans and shifts in his bindings. "I feel like I just got run over by a tank. Get me outta these chains, would ya?" Castiel moves to do just that. As he works, Dean looks up from where his head has been lulling on his chest. "Little too late to do any rescuing, aren't you? Look at me, all human again." He tries to stand when Castiel finishes unbinding him and folds like a house of cards. Crowley grabs him on instinct, but he doesn't look happy to have done it.

"And whose fault is that? I told you not to go running after lover-boy. But no, you had to follow your heart like a goddamn Nicholas Sparks novel."

"Who?" Dean asks, trying to stand up straight again.

Crowley points at Castiel with impatience. "I gave you a gift, and you let this idiot take it from you."

"Sorry, Crowley. Not much we can do about it now."

"We could kill him. And Moose. And that other featherbrain outside."

Dean leans into Crowley's ear and whispers, "You touch him or Sam, and I will not stop until you are dead. You hear me?"

Crowley rolls his eyes, but Castiel can see the apprehension underneath. Crowley knows what a threat from a Winchester means. He pushes Dean off onto Castiel and walks away. "I am absolutely done with you Winchesters. Have fun with your miserable existence."

Castiel settles Dean at his side, adjusting his grip so that he can better support Dean's weight. Crowley disappears before he reaches the doors, and as soon as he does, Dean passes out. Castiel stumbles to pick him up, not expecting the sudden dead weight. He puts an arm under Dean's knees and lifts him against his chest. He needs to get Sam and get Dean back to the bunker so that he can rest. He doubts that Hannah will want to stay, now that the threat of Dean being used as a demonic weapon is clear. He finds them outside, patrolling the building. Neither looks harmed.

Sam rushes to him as soon as he spots Dean passed out in his arms. "Is he okay? What happened? Did the ritual work?"

"It worked," Hannah says, approaching at a more sedate pace. Her eyes are trained on Dean's sleeping face, no doubt examining the luminous soul for any signs of corruption.

"How do you know?" Sam asks, reaching out to pick up Dean's wrist and check his pulse.

"His soul is cleansed, Sam. Did you encounter anyone while we were inside?" Castiel asks.

"No. Some wind knocked the doors open earlier, but that was it."

"That wasn't wind. It was Crowley. He came in just as I was administering the last dose."

"Are you both alright? Is that why Dean's out? Did Crowley do something to him? He isn't dead. He has a pulse."

"I believe this is a result of the cleansing process. We need to get him back to the bunker so that he can rest."

"Yeah, okay, let's get him into the car." Sam turns to open the car for him, but Castiel shakes his head.

"It will be faster for me to take him. You can meet me at the bunker."

"Okay. I'll uh… see you there, I guess."

"Goodbye, Sam," Hannah says, nodding to him. Sam waves with a quirk of his mouth that Castiel believes indicates his feeling of awkwardness. When he gets into the Impala and drives off, Castiel turns to Hannah.

"Thank you for your assistance, Hannah. You do not need to stay longer if you do not wish to. I know Heaven needs you."

"Heaven needs you, as well, Castiel. You are an angel. You belong with your own kind."

Castiel looks down at Dean, eyes closed and head resting on Castiel's shoulder. He understands what Hannah is saying, and a younger, less-experienced part of himself would have easily agreed with her, but he understands that there are more important things than duty. He does not know if it is a lesson she will ever learn herself, but he cannot allow that to stop him from following his own path. "A part of me agrees with you, but I have learned a great deal from my time on earth, both as an angel and as a human. There are more important things in life than orders and duty, Hannah."

"Such as?"

"Hope, love, family."

"Those are human things, Castiel. How are they relevant to you?"

"They are what I want for my life."

"I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to, not yet. It took me a long time to get to a place of understanding myself. But I would like you to accept that I am staying here and respect my wishes. If you need my help, I will be happy to return to Heaven to assist you, but Earth is my home now." He looks back down at Dean, warm and pliant in his arms. "The Winchesters are my family. I wish to spend my life with them."

"That is not a permanent plan. They are human, Castiel. They will die. What will you do then?"

Castiel looks back up into her confused face. "I will return to Heaven, but my place will be with them, and not with our brethren. Can you accept that?"

Hannah looks at him for a long time, confusion slowly seeping into sadness. "If that is what you want, I will try to accept it."

"Thank you. Please show the same courtesy to any other angel who wishes to remain on Earth. I know there are many who have expressed the desire. Please do not force them home against their will. We were told to love humanity by our Father. Let them."

Hannah takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily. "I will try."

"Thank you. I must get Dean into bed now. I hope I will see you again soon."

"Goodbye, Castiel." Hannah flies out. The last glimpse Castiel gets of her is a flash of silvery wings.

Castiel flies immediately after her, landing in Dean's room at the bunker and laying him out on the bed. He takes his time removing Dean's clothing, stripping him piece by careful piece until he is tucked under the covers in only his boxer-briefs. Castiel covers him in two blankets to make sure that he is warm enough and monitors his health with a hand to his forehead. His body is healthy, but his mind and his soul are a mess. There are holes and scars that must be healed, and Grace is not enough to do the healing for him. It is something his body must do for itself. Castiel takes a seat in a chair pulled from the corner desk and waits.


	7. Chapter 7

When Sam gets back to the bunker, he parks the Impala in her usual spot, but doesn't get out right away. It's both strange and comforting to be in his brother's car again. The feel of the leather under his hands is the same, but the smell is off. The usual smells of motor oil, fried foods, and alcohol have been replaced by an overpowering smell of sulfur. It's both repulsive and fascinating to Sam. The yellow powder is everywhere, ingrained in the seats, the metal of the steering wheel, even the radio dials. Dean is going to be so pissed when he gets back behind the wheel, but he has no one but himself to blame. It makes Sam smile, thinking about Dean's reaction. It's such a relief to know that Dean—the real Dean—will be up and around soon, singing along poorly to the radio, demanding pie, bitching about how dirty his car has gotten.

He spends another five minutes just sitting, ignoring the smell of rotten eggs, listening to the engine cool down and settle. He missed this car. He missed his brother. And now that he has both back, he can't imagine why he ever thought he could have let either of them go.

When the engine is cool and he can no longer stand the smell, Sam gets out and goes looking for Cas and Dean. He finds them in Dean's room, Dean in bed asleep, while Cas sits vigil at his bedside. It looks like Cas stripped his clothes off him before putting him to bed. They lay in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. Cas looks up when he hears Sam's footsteps, a grim expression on his face. "Any change?" Sam asks.

Castiel shakes his head. "His mind and his soul have a lot of healing to do. There is no way to know how long he will be asleep. Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to get some sleep as well. You have been awake for fifty-two hours."

"What if he wakes up?"

"I will be here if he needs anything. Go to bed, Sam. He is unlikely to wake before you do."

"Are you sure he's going to be okay?"

Castiel places a hand on Dean's forehead and cocks his head as though he's listening to something. "He is currently dreaming about a sexual encounter with triplet men. And Crowley." Castiel makes a displeased face. "That is not a portion of Crowley I ever wished to see."

Sam makes a face of his own. He really, really doesn't want to know what Dean got up to with Crowley while he was a demon. "Okay, uh, I guess I'll go to sleep then. You uh, you'll get me if anything changes?"

"Of course, Sam. Good night."

"Night," Sam says, taking one last long look at Dean asleep in his bed before he heads down the hall to his own. He decides to take a shower first to wash all the dirt and blood and alcohol from his body. He knows he smells pretty rank at the moment. Sam wanders into the bathroom and turns the shower on to hot. He strips as steam fills the bathroom and then climbs into the piping hot shower. Both Dean and Cas are right about the bunker showers; they have excellent water pressure. Sam has never been able to appreciate it before, but as he stands under the spray and lets the hot water sooth his tight muscles, he can feel all his worry and his tension melt away. It isn't permanent, and there is still a hell of a lot about his life that needs dealing with, but for the moment, it's enough.

/

Dean has been asleep for eighteen hours when Castiel decides to bring in breakfast for him. Sam has been in an out since he woke up several hours ago, but he is restless, and Castiel can hear him pacing the halls when he is not in the room. When Cas passes him in the hall on his way to the kitchen, he looks harried. "Would you like some breakfast, Sam? I was going to make some toast and eggs for Dean."

"Is he awake?" Sam asks, alert and already moving back towards the bedroom.

"No, but I thought the smell of food might entice him to wake up. I doubt he's had much to eat since he… turned. He'll be hungry."

"Oh. Uh yeah, food would be good. Thanks, Cas. I'll man the fort for you."

Castiel frowns, not understanding what he is talking about. They have no fort. "We have no fort," he says.

Sam smiles as though what Cas has said is amusing to him. "It's just an expression. I'll watch over Dean while you're gone."

"Oh, well, thank you. I will be back shortly." He goes to the kitchen and looks in the refrigerator only to find out that they are down to the last two eggs and the milk has gone sour. He finds a box of pancake mix that only requires water and some syrup in a cabinet and decides to improvise. Dean likes pancakes. Castiel has never made them before, but six months ago he didn't know how to brush his teeth or do laundry either. He can figure it out.

An hour later, he returns to Dean's bedroom to find Sam folded into a chair at the bedside with his head in his hands. He looks up at the smell of pancakes and stares. "I was wondering what took you so long. Did you make pancakes?"

"I did. I do not know if they are correct or not. I could only taste the molecules, and they taste the same whether the item is perfectly cooked or completely ruined, so you'll have to forgive me if they are the latter." He hands Sam his plate and a fork tucked into a pocket of his trench and sets the other plate on the bedside table nearest to Dean's face.

Dean is curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, the blankets pulled tight around him. He looks small and fragile and in pain. Castiel has never seen him sleep in any position but a sprawl, legs half-off the bed, sheets and blankets twisted around him. The only resemblance this Dean shares with his memories of Dean is the vulnerable expression on his face. Castiel sits on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of Sam, partly because there is nowhere else, but mostly because he wants to be near Dean. In the past, touching Dean while he was asleep would not have been something Castiel would have considered. Dean reacted poorly when he discovered Castiel watching him sleep. Touching would have only made things worse. Now, with the knowledge of what Dean tastes like fresh in his mind, he feels he can be permitted the luxury. He reaches out and combs his fingers through Dean's hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Dean shifts closer with a sigh, but does not wake.

"These are really good, Cas. Thank you. I didn't realize how hungry I was," Sam says around a mouthful of pancake. When he looks up at Cas, his eyes soften into sadness. "I don't think the pancakes worked. How much longer you think he'll be out?"

"I do not know. He has been through an ordeal for which we have no precedence. It could be hours or days. I do know that his body is healing. It is a slow process, but it is definitely happening. I can see some of the damage has been knitted back together." And he can. With every brush of Dean's skin, he gets a glimpse of what is happening inside his head. He is no longer dreaming of the triplets. He is fishing on the lake. Castiel is pleased to see a dream version of himself sitting beside Dean, not fishing, but there none-the-less.

"That's something, I guess. You sure you don't want to get up, Dean? These pancakes Cas made are awesome." Sam pokes Dean's back with a finger, but it does not garner a response. Sam sighs and goes back to eating. Castiel returns to combing through Dean's hair.

Night falls, and still Dean does not wake. Sam shuffles off to bed around midnight, yawning behind the book he's been reading—a novel for once, and not a book on the supernatural. Castiel bids him goodnight and decides that perhaps he should lay down himself. He no longer needs to sleep, but the last few days—months, really—have been emotionally exhausting, and he would like to rest. He peels off his trench coat and takes off his shoes and lays down on the bed next to Dean on top of the covers. He shifts onto his side so that he can look at Dean's still face without encumbrance. He lifts a hand to trace the lines of Dean's skin, the laugh lines along his eyes, the curves around his mouth. The freckles on his nose have begun to spread outward, towards his cheeks and forehead. They make Cas smile.

"I thought we talked about watching me when I'm asleep," Dean murmurs, his nose wrinkling up. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at Cas without moving.

"I didn't think you would mind. You've been asleep for thirty-four hours."

"Have I? Must have needed it, then." Dean's voice is rough and quiet. He reaches up to trace along Cas' ear.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a mack truck. But I'm human again. I don't feel the Mark anymore. Thanks."

"I told you I would never stop trying to save you."

Dean smiles a crooked little smile. "That you did. Thanks." He leans in and presses his lips to Cas', pulling him in with a firm grip on the back of his neck. Castiel lets himself be taken, sliding closer to Dean so that their bodies are pressed together against the barrier of the blankets. This kiss is far different from the first violent kisses. Dean is methodical in his attentions, mapping out Cas' mouth with his tongue until Castiel feels thoroughly concurred. It is a reassuring feeling. He no longer tastes sulfur or fire when he touches Dean. He feels home.

When Sam pops in in the morning, Dean is sleeping on Castiel's chest under the covers, fingers curled over his bare shoulder. Sam stares wide-eyed at them for a moment, turns on his heel, and walks away.


End file.
